


FELINE: Dawnside

by Mussells



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Based on The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood and Gore, Bogum is evil, Decoctions, Domestic Violence, Drunk Witchers, Eldritch, Eventual Smut, Farmer Kim Taehyung | V, Fate & Destiny, Homophobia, Horror, I'm Sorry, Intense Homophobia, Love Triangles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Peep Namjin, Potions, Psychological Horror, Small Towns, Tags May Change, Unrequited Love, Witcher Jeongguk, Witcher Yoongi, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 20:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 59,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussells/pseuds/Mussells
Summary: The job: a small town, middle of nowhere, suddenly inundated by monsters. No cause – no explanation: just chaos. A recipe for disaster, in Yoongi’s opinion. The older Witcher fully intends to charge a premium. Then, he intends to retire. Somewhere nice. Somewhere temperate. Somewhere with good wine.(Or, Min Yoongi and Jeon Jeongguk are fearless monster hunters brought to their knees by innocent farm boi Taehyung and not-so-innocent witch of the wilds, Jimin. Chaos ensues, as always.)





	1. Silver for Monsters...

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I know I have two other fics on the go that I haven't finished that I probably should've before I started this but when inspiration strikes, what's a gal to do!?!?!??! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! Second Part already in the works. Tossed up not uploading until it was entirely done but I'm /weak/. 
> 
> As usual my formatting got a bit fucked. I'm too lazy to fix it. Greatest apologies.

“How much further?”

“Not far – an hour, tops.”

“Storm’s brewing.”

Min Yoongi looks towards the darkening sky, dares it open. Somewhere, far in the distance, thunder rumbles, threatening. The Witcher frowns.

“Let’s get going, hyung. Don’t fancy riding through a storm.”

 _How ‘bout riding into one_ , Yoongi thinks, silently.

“Will it be so bad?”

A man of few words, the elder doesn’t offer an answer. Doesn’t bother to tell his companion that the silver medallion nestled against his heart already hums, hot, pressing into bare flesh of his chest.

“My medallion,” Jeongguk reaches unconsciously, fingers halting against the base of his neck.

Yoongi just nods, confirming as much.

The job: a small town, middle of nowhere, suddenly inundated by monsters. No cause – no explanation: just chaos. A recipe for disaster, in Yoongi’s opinion. The older Witcher fully intends to charge a premium. Then, he intends to retire. Somewhere nice. Somewhere temperate. Somewhere with good wine. Leave Jeongguk to his own devices. He’s ready, after all.

The elder slings a leg over his bike, helmet at the ready, silver sword braced uncomfortably against the wiry muscles of his back. He’s suffocating inside his worn leather jacket, the air still and stagnant around him, far hotter than he’s used to.

The Witcher motions to his younger companion, bike coming alive underneath him in a deep rumble. He watches Jeongguk check the side car before hopping gracefully onto his own chopper. It’s a sleek ride, though the kid had insisted on hand-painting a somewhat garish black panther on the body, racing through flame.

Paying homage the young Witcher had said, to their school. School of the Cat.

Lightning flashes, followed by a clap of thunder that feels uncomfortably close. Without another word, the pair set off, two by two, side by side, down an empty highway. The countryside flashes past and Yoongi pays just enough attention to notice how the foliage turns from sparse to wild and overgrown, the closer they get to the town.

Endless fields replaced by towering trees suffocated by vine, deep dark roots imposing onto the roads so that both he and Jeongguk slow, swerving carefully to avoid being overturned by the unruly, wild terrain.

The stench of rotting green fills the air, overwhelming the Witcher’s heightened senses, causing him to breathe through his mouth alone. He watches the way his young companion’s posture changes slowly over time – the easy, care-free shoulders growing tense, knuckles turning white against the handlebars.

They ride, racing the setting sun, both on edge, a storm behind them. Their destination closes in and the air around them seems to only rise in density. There’s a sign in the distance, enhanced eye-sight zeroing in on the words “ _Welcome to Dawnside! Population 1,612”_.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. He hates the city – hates small towns even worse. Would rather be in the wilderness alone. Would rather live on an island: population 1. Small towns are a breeding ground for archaic thinking, disease, and deceit. They condemn queers in towns like this – they burn witches, and hunt the monsters that ought not to be hunted.

Towns like Dawnside sneer at the strange – turn their back to anything beyond the norm.

Two men with silver swords and the slitted, yellow eyes of a serpent…

They’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

Not particularly helpful when trying to lay low, as Witchers do.

Jeongguk passes Yoongi as the highway devolves into a single lane. As the young Witcher crosses the threshold, the elder sees him jolt – almost calls out to his companion, before his own medallion begins to thrum against his chest with all the force of an earthquake.

Well, that answers one question.

There’s magic in Dawnside. Strong magic. Would explain the sudden influx of monsters, but not the origin or the source. The Witcher dares to inhale through his nose and finds that the rotting green has been replaced by a heady sweet that hurts behind his eyes.

 _Odd_ , he thinks to himself. _Really odd._

_Familiar._

It doesn’t take the pair long to breach the town centre. It’s a small collection of buildings that one might expect in a settlement of this size. An obvious town hall, post-office, library and cafés line the streets. Everything is run-down, yet quaint. The gardens are perfectly manicured and the colors a dull pastel in the grey light of an incoming storm.

There’s no one on the streets. Not a single soul. Imposed curfew, Yoongi assumes. Dangerous times call for drastic measures, and if the e-mail he’d received twelve days ago was any indication – the situation was incredibly severe. Monsters running rampant through the streets. Drowners infesting the local watering hole. Wraiths in the cemetery. Sirens in the lake.

In other words – fucking chaos.

Not that it’s obvious. The town is eerily quiet, unsettlingly still. The rumble of thunder and motorcycle the only sound to be heard for miles. The only accommodation in town a small wooden structure with a flickering sign that reads ‘bar’, and then another that says ‘motel’. They pull in.

Jeongguk cuts his engine first, Yoongi shortly after, stepping off his bike as rain begins to pelt against his leather jacket. The storm brings no relief. The air only seems to get heavier. The Witcher shivers, nonetheless, steps shamelessly undercover as his companion pulls their luggage and equipment from the side car quickly.

“Feel like lending a hand, hyung?”

“No,” Yoongi drawls, though he does pick up a rather large satchel of his own equipment, passing Jeongguk, heading for the entrance. The young Witcher chuckles in his wake. He’s of significantly bigger build than the elder, which allows the platinum-haired hunter to easily justify his actions when he leaves his young companion with the majority of the heavy lifting.

Yoongi’s fast. Jeongguk’s strong. But he’s also fast. That kid’s good at everything. He can handle it.

Entering into the motel is like stepping into another reality. It’s warmly lit, smells of stale wine and wood and fire. There’s a band playing something upbeat in the corner, some kind of dance taking place on the small stage, performers illuminated in hot-pink light.

Jeongguk shuffles in behind Yoongi, equipment blocking the doorway. Hot, heavy air spills into the airconditioned space, a patron turns, yells to ‘shut the damn door’, spots Yoongi, bright yellow eyes glowing dimly in the darkness.

Almost comedically, the music ends, the dancers stop, and angry drunk man’s mouths falls open; there’s the distant sound of a coin dropping, thunder rumbles somewhere close by as the Witcher’s face off with the town, for the first time.

Jeongguk shuffles awkwardly, but Yoongi just gazes back at the patrons who watch them, wide eyed, though a number of expressions are obvious: confusion, fear, anger, even.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk whispers nervously.

Yoongi just shrugs. They’ll have to get used to their presence, eventually - no reason why it shouldn’t be now. Sooner rather than later. Quickly, the pregnant silence is replaced by a cacophony of whispers, all of which the Witcher can decipher – enhanced hearing, and all.

Just as the angry drunk man seems to work up the courage to slur in their direction, there’s a call from across the bar. A slender man with broad shoulders and a pretty face rushes towards them, arms outstretched, smile rounding the apples of his cheeks endearingly.

Yoongi tenses, none-the-less. So does Jeongguk, at his side.

“Oh the Witchers are here!” The man yells in a high, syrupy voice. “Joonie get out here! It’s the Witchers!”

Another man appears in Yoongi’s periphery, standing up straight from behind the bar. He’s even taller than the first, though significantly less broad, less smiley, as well. His face is blank, confused, even. But his eyes are sharp and aware. He glances between the Witchers, the glass he’s been drying religiously, stilling in his hand.

“Witchers!” The smiley-guy yells again, coming to a halt half an arms-length from Yoongi’s face. Far too close. “Witchers! In my bar! See, Joonie!”

“Yeah. I see ‘em,” says the other, carefully.

“Need two rooms,” Yoongi drawls. “Staying indefinitely.”

“Only have one room available,” bar-guy responds.

“Witchers! Wow!”

Yoongi does his best to keep his features neutral though he’s particularly displeased that he has to share a room with Jeongguk. He’s almost tempted to send the kid home, in fact. “We’ll take it,” he says instead.

“You’ll have to pay a retainer.”

“Fine,” he motions to Jeongguk, who rounds the counter, wallet in hand.

“Wow,” smiley-guy shakes his head in awe, brown eyes flitting between Yoongi and Jeongguk. “Wow the eyes – he really didn’t lie.”

“Who didn’t lie?” Jeongguk asks.

“My cousin,” smiley-guy grins. “He’s all into monsters and lore and stuff. Couldn’t stop talking about it when the news broke that they’d requested…” His sentence fades away to silence as he leans towards Yoongi, eyes full of questions. “Why is your hair white?”

“Fashion,” Yoongi quips.

“Really?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Can we get keys to the room?”

“Right here.”

Barman places an envelope against the wooded surface in front of Yoongi. Inside, there’s a large plastic tag that reads ‘303’ attached to a large, antique looking key. Yoongi does his best to supress an eye roll, though he does cast his gaze towards the ceiling for a fraction of a second. He takes the keys, and sets off towards the stairs in the far corner of the bark.

“Up the stairs. Third floor to your left.”

“Jeongguk,” he calls, breezing past smiley-guy, leaving barman in his wake without so much as a nod of thanks.

“Oh, okay! So glad you’re here,” smiley-guy calls. “Don’t hesitate to come and see us if you have any questions. Kitchen closes at nine! Breakfast from six to eight! My name’s Jin, by the way! Kim Seokjin! I’m the owner.”

“Nice to meet you I’m Jeon Jeong –“

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi calls.

“Oh, um, sorry. Thank you! See you soon!”

When they reach the room, Yoongi is sweaty, despite the frigid air conditioning. They barrel inside together and cringe at the size of the space. Two small, stocky single beds with off-white linen that looks a little like it could be dirty instead of just discoloured. They’ve both slept in the literal dirt. They don’t complain.

Luckily, at the foot of each bed are two, significantly size chests. These should fit their more standard equipment; there’s a mini-fridge in the corner of the room for their perishables, as well. Where most people might fill it with alcohol or milk, Jungkook gets to work unloading their perishables into the unit: delicate herbs, milky fluids, and eye-balls – ingredients they may need for complex potions and decoctions.

All in all – it’ll do. The elder might prefer to have his own space, but in all honestly, his young companion is quiet: he keeps to himself, doesn’t snore, and spends most of his time with his head in a book. He’s a good kid – a great Witcher – and Yoongi doesn’t _dislike_ him.  That’s high praise.

“What should I do with the herbs?” Jungkook asks.

“It’s dry as fuck in here,” Yoongi observes. “Lay ‘em out. Should be fine.”

“The weapons?”

“Lock ‘em in the chests.”

“They won’t all fit.”

“Should be fine.”

“What if someone comes in the room?”

The elder shrugs. “We’ll take the good stuff with us. I’ll set up some traps.”

“Seriously, hyung?”

“Don’t trust small towns,” he says, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m having a shower.”

“’Kay, hyung. I might go explore a little.”

“Don’t get killed. Night’s fallen.”

“Aw, hyung, you care?”

“Don’t get killed,” Yoongi repeats, slamming the door in his wake.

Under the hot stream of water, the Witcher feels cold.

Doesn’t know why.

 

* * *

 

­­­

Taehyung shivers. It’s hot, though significantly darker outside than expected. He’d love to say he doesn’t know how he managed to so spectacularly lose track of time but, in all honesty, he does. Knows exactly how. It’s the same story as always.

          He wasn’t paying attention.

          He got distracted.

          He is generally not good at managing himself, or anything around him.

          Stepping out into the night the air is thick and heavy. Streep lamps flicker to life around him, lending a small amount of glowing orange light. Off in the distance he can see a nasty storm brewing, the thunder-head lit up by a burst of white-hot lightening that makes Taehyung shriek when the clap reaches his ears.

          He almost drops his books. Almost. Protect the books. Protect them at all costs.

          The young-man glances side-to-side meekly. It’s passed curfew. He knows this because he’d gone to all the trouble of setting an alert, which he then promptly ignored, nose buried in a particularly tantalizing chapter of his current favorite vice: Memoirs of a Witcher.

          It’s a collection of ancient diary entries by a young nobleman – a close friend to one of the greatest Witchers the world has ever known – past, present and, probably, future. Taehyung’s obsessed with it. Can’t get enough. He’s a sponge for anything Witcher related, these days. Has been since the news dropped.

          Witchers on the way.

          Witchers. In Dawnside. In this this tiny, joke of a town, where nothing happens. Finally. Finally _something_. Obviously, the young-man isn’t entirely thrilled that his town is being slowly overrun by monsters – nonetheless, he can’t help his excitement.

          Things are happening, here.

          In this town with three street-lights, things are finally happening.

          The coast seemingly clear, Taehyung lays his books carefully against his satchel on the floor, and turns to lock the library. He has his own set of keys, gifted to him by a friend on the inside, albeit in secret. The library is the young-man’s favorite place. It may be small, the selection not particularly broad, but there’s more to know inside the walls than there is to discover outside them.

          Taehyung is a bibliophile. Has been since he was a child. It began as a coping strategy, and transformed into a way of life. Three months into the new year, and the young man has already read 112 books. It’s his hobby: a passion, of sorts. Whether fiction, or non-fiction – fantasy, or science - he doesn’t care. If there’s words on a page – if they transport, or transform him – that’s all he needs.

          Loves to lose himself inside.

          With the library securely locked, Taehyung takes his books from the ground, secures his satchel over his shoulder, cradling the texts with more attention and care than he might show a baby, or a small animal. He takes in a lungful of dense air and sets off down the street, hopes that he might find a pocket of clear sky, so his books aren’t ruined.

          It’s darker than expected. Quiet. So quiet. With the imposed curfew there’s no life on the streets past the late afternoon. Not worth it, the mayor had said. Not when monsters roam the night as if they own the town themselves.

          Taehyung shivers, glances over his shoulder because he feels like he’s being followed, even though the coast had seemed entirely clear. He checked, right?

          He definitely checked.

          The young-man quickens his pace. Tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to get caught in the rain, but in reality, he doesn’t want to get killed by a werewolf or a wraith or some weird creature of the night that he doesn’t have a name for, even though, in recent months, he’s become particularly knowledgeable in the way of monsters and the things that hunt them.

          To keep himself calm, Taehyung cycles through herbology. Herbs and flowers and weeds, starting at the most common, moving through to the standard and rare ingredients that a Witcher might use in potions and decoctions.

          Once he finishes with herbs, he lists alchemical ingredients and mutagens: Drowner tongue, Griffin feathers, Erynia eye, Harpy egg; he wonders, considering the sudden influx of monsters, whether he might be able to find some of these ingredients himself. Starts planning a field trip which he ultimately decides against because he doesn’t have a death wish.

          He’s bored but he’s not _that_ bored.

Taehyung knows he’s not a Witcher. He might wish to be something exciting – something near-magic – but in reality, the young-man knows: he’s just a kid from a small town he’ll probably never leave. Try as he might, he’s average. It’s depressing, but it’s realistic. That’s the best he’s got.

Leaving the centre of town behind, street lamps are few and far between. The air is hot and damp, but Taehyung holds his books close against his chest as if chilled. He’s moving on to precious powders, metals and stones, coming to the edge of his knowledge, panic settling inside his chest because he isn’t even half-way home, and the light is almost completely gone from the sky, and there’s _monsters_ in these parts.

He’s not safe, here. 

So when the tall grass to his left shuffles of its own accord in the dead-still night-time air, Taehyung freezes, stomach near dropping right out of his asshole. His breath catches in his throat, a tiny little squeak leaving his lips.

He waits, for what feels like an eternity, his ears straining against the silence, eyes straining against the darkness. Nothing comes for him. The grass doesn’t shuffle again even though he gives it the longest moment to do so, holds his breath until his lungs are aching, screaming for oxygen.

Eventually, when he’s largely certain that the coast is clear, when his soul returns to his body, Taehyung sets off towards home once more, holding his books so tightly that the corners and margins dig into the soft flesh of his chest.

He’s fairly certain that he’s going to make it out alive when he smells it. That scent of dead things – old meat and rotted greenery. A shiver runs up and down his spine so violent that his vision blurs. His hands start to itch and he’s suddenly so hot that sweat collects above his top lip and against his brow.

The first thing his brain tells him is that he’s surrounded by ghouls. A type of necrophage, his inner library sings. Weaknesses: silver, necrophage oil, obviously; strong style is the most efficient combat form when fighting ghouls – group style, when surrounded; Igni can be useful - though they have no  specific weakness to the sign, nothing likes to be burned.

Great, he thinks.

The second thing Taehyung’s brain tells him is that he isn’t a Witcher. Doesn’t have a silver sword; no combat training to boot. Can’t cast signs. He might know the information, but it doesn’t do him any good. What’s he going to do, hold a symposium? Maybe the ghouls won’t kill him. Won’t eat him alive, literally. It could be like a fun, informative exchange.

Taehyung’s going to die, tonight.

Great.

He considers running, though he knows it won’t do him any good. He’s surrounded, anyway, he can hear snarling and salivating behind him as if the ghouls were pressed against his ear. Taehyung didn’t realize the smell would be so overwhelming. They really do carry the scent of death. It’s so bad that if he weren’t entirely frozen with fear he might double over and throw up his dinner.

The young man says his goodbyes. Curses the Gods, though he doesn’t believe. Wishes he’d had more sex in college. Realizes he’s never been in love. Feels an inordinate amount of sorrow at that last point. Hopes the ghouls leave enough of him behind that his parents can identify his body.

They probably won’t. They’ll eat his bones, most likely.

He hears something set off towards him and closes his eyes, hopes it won’t hurt too much, though that seems unrealistic. Getting eaten alive is sure to hurt, right? It’s surely going to hurt. It’s surely, surely going to hurt when he’s eaten alive.

It’s going to hu –

A strong, steady arm wraps around his stomach, pressing him into a warm body, which is strange because he’s pretty certain that ghouls don’t have arms or bodies – don’t take up protective stances over the humans that they plan to devour.

“Stay close to me,” strong arm, warm body instructs, and Taehyung follows these directions, grasping on to the words with everything he has.

Warm body moves, Taehyung follows step for step, his precious books discarded so he can grip onto the stranger’s arm with his hands shaped like talons. He watches the ghouls pass him by, one by one, ugly creatures with rotting, blistering flesh, sinewy muscles, and massive, drooling mouths. They look about as good as they smell, Taehyung notes in a quiet, intellectually reserved portion of his mind.

Soon enough, the ghouls fall out of sight, and Taehyung thinks that maybe he could run. Strong arm, warm body seems to know what he’s doing – if Taehyung sets off in the other direction then maybe he’ll live to tell this tale, could start writing his own memoir, maybe.

“Don’t run,” the stranger warns, as if he can see into Taehyung’s mind. “Ghouls are like dogs. If you run, they’ll give chase. Don’t run.”

Taehyung nods, forgetting that the stranger can’t see him. He’s not even sure he could speak if he tried. His legs shake, threaten to give out, he grips onto the stranger for dear life and prays that whoever it is, they really _do_ know what they’re doing.

“I’m gonna take care of this, but I need you to trust me, okay?”

Taehyung nods again.

“What’s your name?” Strong arms asks gently.

“T-Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” stranger breathes. “That’s a nice name. I’m Jeongguk. Don’t be afraid. I’m going to protect you.”

“T-Those are _ghouls_ ,” Taehyung gasps.

Strong arms’ shoulders flex. “Very good, Taehyung. You know monsters?”

The pair move in an almost imperceptible circle, back to back the whole time, Taehyung wedged behind the strangers warm, stable arm. He feels, oddly, safe. Something about that voice, something about the certainty in his tone. The ghouls follow the stranger as if mesmerized. They never break formation, so Taehyung only ever catches the outline of them in his periphery. If he didn’t know better, he might wonder if they’d scattered.

“I’ve b-been reading,” the young man whispers, barely audible to his own ears.

“About monsters,” the stranger comments.

“Y-yes.”

“Smart,” Jeongguk muses. “Say, in your readings did you ever look into monster hunting?”

“Y-yes,” Taehyung nods.

“Who, would you say, are the best monster hunters in the world?”

That’s obvious. “Witchers,” Taehyung says.

There’s a small chuckle. “Jeon Jeongguk. Witcher. At your service.”

Taehyung’s shoulders slump. He’s going to live.

“I’m gonna need you to let go of my arm now, Taehyung. That’s my casting arm.”

“Okay,” Taehyung whispers. He retracts his hands, barely.

The arm squeezes his middle reassuringly, one more time. “Don’t run,” he says, retracting slowly. “Don’t run, but stay out of my way, okay?”

“Okay,” Taehyung breathes.

Jeongguk releases him and Taehyung hears a sword pull free from its sheath, feels the air around him zing, almost, as he steps away from Jeongguk, gathering all his bravery because he’s not going to _miss this_. As frightened as he is, there’s not any way in high _hell_ he’s going to miss seeing a Witcher fight.

Taehyung turns on his heel and with the strange hypnotic motion of their circling interrupted, the ghouls launch at the dark haired figure in front of him. Their jaws snapping wildly, for a second, Taehyung considers that actually, they may still die; Jungkook lifts his hand, and in a motion so fast he almost misses it, casts a sign that sends the encroaching ghouls flying backward.

 _Holy Fuck_.

In the moment between, Taehyung’s saviour turns around to face him. A gust of air leaves the young-man’s lungs because this – can he even call him a man? – this Witcher is _young_. Younger than Taehyung, at the ripe old age of twenty-five. Jeongguk’s skin is smooth and alabaster in the moonlight. His lips are pink and pouty like a cherub, his eyes round, innocent, warm and doe like.

Taehyung might laugh at the sight. The kid looks more like a pop-star than a Witcher. But the eyes – more specifically, his irises – those give him away. They’re glowing a faintly reptilian yellow in the low-light, the pupil, slitted like a snake. There’s no doubt. If the fact that he used the sign of Aard to knock the ghouls backward wasn’t enough of a giveaway, Taehyung can’t ignore the eyes.

Jeongguk smiles, cheeky and feline, and then, almost flirtatiously, he winks.

Chaos ensues. Well, to Taehyung’s untrained eye it looks like chaos. In actuality, Jeongguk seems to go about taking the ghouls one by one with a rather relaxed squaring of his shoulders. His silver sword glows in the night-time, purple in color. The runes decorating the length of the blade are intricate and beautiful, even more so as they spark, slicing right through the neck of the first ghoul.

Jeongguk seems momentarily surrounded, though he knocks two ghouls away with Aard, as he had before. Sets fire to the third with Igni.

 _Igni_. Taehyung just saw fire spurt from Jeongguk’s hand as if it were nothing. Just a flick of his wrist and then _flame_. Fucking _amazing_ , Taehyung is able to think it through the fear, completely in spite of the fact that he’s rooted to the ground, shaking like a leaf.

Jeongguk pirouettes beautifully, silver sword flashing through the air so quickly, effortlessly, that it seems to disappear from sight. A second ghoul goes down, blade slicing through rotted flesh like butter. It might be beautiful, if the ghouls weren’t so inherently ugly, if the smell didn’t intensify with their innards lain bare on the walkway.

Jeongguk expertly dodges incoming attacks, bouncing backwards, rolling, stepping effortlessly out of the way, as if he might be avoiding glancing shoulders with another, rather than snapping, ferocious jaws. He even has time to run his hand through his hair, brushing the strands from his sticky forehead.

He looks nothing short of beautiful. Taehyung can say that much. His arms are bare and flexing against the load, his face is neutral – not exactly passive, but serene, rather – meditative, even. His eyes seem to glow ferociously. If he wasn’t protecting Taehyung, the young man might be scared of him. Instead, he’s enamoured.

This is art. This is pure art.

The third ghoul is slaughtered, corpse falling into the road with a deep, ugly thud, blood splashing onto the grass. Jeongguk withdraws his sword, coated with sticky, brown fluid, and turns towards the two remaining ghouls.

He has other signs at his disposal, Taehyung notes, but he doesn’t need to use them. The ghouls launch at him in tandem, and it looks as if this might be it for him. Instead, his sword flashes through the air, light glinting in Taehyung’s eyes, decapitating the ghouls mid jump. Their bodies fall slack and drop to the floor like the dead weight that they are.

Jeongguk’s stance relaxes, sword held at his side, dripping. He glances down at the blade and grimaces, eyeing the weapon for a moment before taking a rag from his belt and wiping the blood from the silver in one swoop.

Around him is a graveyard. Blood and tissue scattered, one ghoul still twitching, though lifeless – headless. It’s horrifying and disgusting and beautiful and Taehyung feels bile rise in his throat. Before he can do anything about it, he’s throwing up into the grass.

He might be embarrassed but mostly he’s too focused on keeping his oesophagus inside his throat where it belongs. As he empties his stomach of whatever was still inside, a warm hand comes to rest against his back, patting gently, a voice urging him to ‘get it all out’, telling him that it’s okay.

Taehyung’s eyes water, but eventually he stops gagging into the grass, feels strong enough to stand up straight, wipe his mouth against the sleeve of his shirt. The smell is awful, the taste in his mouth is worse, but, with an almost inconceivable zap, he realises.

He’s alive.

“Sorry,” Taehyung coughs, barely able to make eye-contact with his saviour.

“No, seriously,” Jeongguk laughs, carefully brushing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “That was terrifying _and_ disgusting. Losing your dinner is completely normal.”

“You saved my life,” Taehyung pants, eyes grazing over the Witcher’s form. “I was going to die.”

“Ah,” Jeongguk waves a hand through the air. “No big – just ghouls. Not like I had to battle a dragon.”

Taehyung watches him, mouth ajar. “I need to pay you,” he says, looking around frantically, realizing eventually that his satchel is still slung over his shoulder. He digs inside and pulls his wallet free. “I have to pay you for your services!”

Jeongguk grabs his hand, holds it still. The contact burns. “Oh Gods, no – you don’t have to – “

“It’s Witcher _law_.” Taehyung gasps.

“It’s fine, seriously,” Jeongguk turns an odd shade of red but Taehyung’s not entirely self-aware enough to realize that he’s made the other blush. “We don’t really, take that super seriously anymore…”

“But I _have_ to,” Taehyung insists, trying to break free so he can thrust the money towards his saviour.

“You really don’t,” Jeongguk repeats shyly. “Honestly, it’s – I’m just happy I was out… you’re – “ his soft brown eyes pass over Taehyung’s face, and the rest of his sentence dies down to nothing.

“Jeongguk, I _have to pay you for your services because it’s Witcher law!”_

“Okay!” The other laughs after a moment of quiet gaping. “I don’t even know how you know that but, Gods, um, how about you – you pay me by giving us a tour of the town? Tomorrow? We just arrived this afternoon and it would be good to get the lay of the land.”

“There’s more of you?” Taehyung gasps.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk laughs, brushing a hand through his bangs again. “Yeah Yoongi-hyung, he’s kind of the star of the show, actually. I’m just… Yeah, I just help him out, if he needs.”

“No way, you’re – that was just – fuck, I mean I’ve never seen anything _like_ that – Gods the way you moved it was like…” Taehyung has no words, he just shakes his head in awe, eyes locked on his saviours delicate features.

Jeongguk’s neck takes on a tomato-y hue.

“Thank you!” Taehyung belts. “Gods, you _saved my life_ Jeongguk. Thank you. I’ll do whatever you want. I know everything about this town. You need a tour guide, I’m it. Consider it done!” He beams across at the other, squeezes his outstretched hand, the money issue entirely forgotten.

“Good,” the young Witcher coughs. “Um, yeah, that’s great. I’m looking forward to that.” He smiles, tight lipped, back at Taehyung, holds his hand gently – unbelievably gently for someone who just slaughtered five ghouls without breaking hardly a sweat.

Taehyung enjoys the way that Jeongguk’s eyes seem to sparkle – the juxtaposition of his sweet features and the utter carnage surrounding him. It’s exciting. This young man is exciting, and Taehyung vows in that moment to get to know him. Wants to know everything about that life. Jeongguk can be like Taehyung’s own pet project.

Maybe he will write that memoir.

The Witcher chuckles nervously, retracts his hand from Taehyung’s in a reserved motion, before glancing around. “There must be a nest close by,” he breathes. “Gonna be a bitch to find in all this grass.”

“Right now!?” Taehyung jumps, excitedly, his terror entirely forgotten.

Jeongguk barks, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Absolutely not,” he says incredulously. “Gods Yoongi-hyung would murder me, forget about the ghouls. I’m – I’m going to escort you home and then _I’m_ going to go home and shower for three hours – fucking disgusting,” he says, more to himself than to Taehyung. “Never get rid of this fucking smell.”

“I don’t live far,” Taehyung says. “I’m – I’m sorry about this. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk’s tone is reassuring. “Just, in the future, be careful? There won’t be a Witcher on a late night stroll every time, y’know? You need to be cautious.”

Taehyung sobers at Jeongguk’s words. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, I will. Promise.”

The young Witcher shoots him a toothy smile. “Good,” he grins. “Now, which way’s home?”

 

* * *

 

 

When the storm hits, it’s later than Yoongi expects. Early, even, into the hours of the morning. A rather close crack of thunder wakes the Witcher from his dozing with a start. The wind howls, rain lashing against the windows; Jungkook breathes quietly by his side, though he blinks toward the ceiling, woken as well.

          After that, the night is slow. The storm, on the other hand, is wild; it tears through the valley, gale force winds rattling the wooden shades, rain pelting against the tin roof, an orchestra of sound, all too close, too loud for comfort.

          As the rain soaks into the dead Earth it releases an array of smells that flood the Witcher’s sensitive nose: manure, rotted greenery, mown grass, and concrete. That sweet smell, hanging heady over everything. Yoongi tries to meditate, tries to drown it all out – isn’t particularly successful, resolves to stare at the ceiling, instead.

          By the time rain slows, claps of thunder receding somewhere into the distance, the light of morning already begins to color the room in a melancholy gray. The Witcher buries his head against his pillow, tries once more to sleep. He aches with old injuries, the lumpy mattress doing nothing to ease his hurt. If anything, it’s worse. Yoongi rolls onto his side.

          He must, perhaps out of desperation, fall into an uneasy slumber, because the next time he opens his eyes, the harsh light of the late morning invades his closed lids. He grunts, rolls onto his back, stretches with a lengthy exhale.

          Beside him, Jungkook is nowhere to be found. The young Witcher’s bed is made, sheets pulled up immaculately, as if they’d never been touched; his sleeping clothes are folded in to a neat little square, journal wedged underneath his pillow, as if purposefully hidden. There’s a stack of books beside his bed, the young-man’s circular reading glasses perched neatly on top. It’s… _cute_ , Yoongi thinks to himself, the entire scene.

          The Witcher pulls himself reluctantly from the covers, flexes his shoulder, grimaces against the pain. An old injury that never healed quite right – still, to this day, locking up in the mornings, growing irritated and angry after any particularly strenuous activity.

          It fucked up his sword-style, too. He had to adapt.

          The bathroom is miniature, run down, but functioning – more than a pair of Witchers on the hunt could ever need, or expect. Yoongi splashes his face with tepid water because the cold never seems to get quite cold, and the hot is only ever lukewarm. He glances at his reflection in the mirror – looks older than he remembers, but not nearly as old as he actually is, skin still smooth and full, hair silky, despite it’s near-white color.

          The Witcher dresses slowly, careful to avoid his tight shoulder, struggles to secure his boots – manages fine, as always. He checks the time: 10:48 a.m. He’s missed breakfast, which is equal parts heartbreaking and irritating. With the room to himself, he allows his features a quick pout, lips pulling downward for a fraction of a second before his expression smooths, returning to his standard passive, uninterested look.

          Gathering some basic equipment, silver sword, his favourite gun, his standard kit of potions and decoctions, Yoongi leaves the room, locking the door in his wake. Dissimilarly to the previous night, no loud, thumping music echoes through the hallway. In fact, there’s no sound at all, even as he descends the small staircase, reaching the bar quickly.

          Behind the wooded partition is the barman from the previous night: still tall, cheeks still dimpled in concentration, still seemingly drying the same glass he had been when the pair first met. The man notices Yoongi, nods at him quickly before returning to work – the Witcher decides he likes this one; far more than the other one, with his giant smile, loud, obnoxious laughing, excitability that seemed entirely uncontrol –

          “Min Yoongi! Witcher Yoongi! Oh hello! Good morning, so good to see you up! Did you sleep okay? Was the room alright? Do you need anything?”

          _No, no, and no,_ Yoongi thinks, but he doesn’t bother to answer out-loud. He nods at the smiley-guy, Seokjin, if memory serves, and prays silently that if he continues to slink towards the doorway, the other man will let him pass without another word. Nothing can stop him.

          “Your friend left you a plate of breakfast.”

          Except for those words.

          Yoongi turns, glares at Kim Seokjin for uncovering his buttered toast and baked beans weakness, and slinks away from the exit. The owner smiles at him, motions to his partner behind the bar who disappears out of sight for a moment, only to return with a plate of steaming food in his hand. He places it on the bar, and motions for Yoongi to sit.

          “Yes, your friend, Jeongguk, right? Such a sweet kid – can’t believe he’s a Witcher. Couldn’t hurt a fly, that one.”

          Yoongi cocks his head, taking a knife and fork out of the barman’s hand, unwrapping his napkin tentatively from around the cutlery. “Oh trust me,” he mumbles, “he could.”

          “What’s that?” Seokjin asks.

          The Witcher doesn’t respond, simply digs into his breakfast with all the enthusiasm of a starving man, tries his best not to grimace when the far-too-chirpy owner takes a seat next to him, arm slinging over the bar, pretty face rested casually inside his oddly quirked palm.

          “So,” he says.

          Yoongi spares the man an irritated glance, raising his brow in query.

          “Anything you want to share?” Seokjin asks.

          “No.”

          “Not allowed?”

          “No. Not the police.”

          “Then why?” Seokjin asks.

          _Firstly, because I just got here and I don’t_ know _anything, secondly, because:_ “don’t want to.”

          The owner pouts (if Yoongi were Jeongguk he might say ‘adorably’), turning to his colleague with a pleading expression. The other man watches him, eyes flashing fondly, before sighing quietly and asking the other to “leave the man to his breakfast, Jinnie.”

          “Namjoooon.”

          Yoongi huffs with thanks and turns towards his beans, downing the final few mouthfuls in one huge gobble. He mops up the sauce with his buttered toast, grunts appreciatively as ‘Namjoooon’ places a charcoal-black coffee in front of him, along with a small pot of creamer, and sugar. The Witcher uses all of it, admiring the way the fluid turns honey-brown before he throws four teaspoons of sugar into the mix. When he sips his coffee, humming happily, he looks up to find two sets of eyes staring at him with confusion, and amusement.

          “What?” He barks. “Don’t like it bitter.”

          “Obviously,” Namjoon observes, does his best to hide a grin, though his dimpled cheek gives him away.

          Yoongi rolls his eyes, downs his coffee in one fell swoop. He cleans his face with his napkin, stacks his fork and knife neatly inside his plate before sliding it towards Namjoon. He doesn’t really fancy it, but the Witcher smiles tightly, appreciatively, sends a quick look towards both men.

          “You’re welcome,” Seokjin grins, though the barman lets it pass without a word.

          “My colleague, Jeongguk – did he leave a note for me.”

          “No,” the owner says, “but he did leave with Taehyung, so I assume they’ve gone to the library.”

          “Taehyung?”

          “Yeah,” Seokjin smiles fondly. “My little cousin. They seemed to know each-other. Taehyung came to fetch him, something about a tour of the town. Jeongguk left with him after breakfast.”

          Yoongi frowns. Uncharacteristic of the young Witcher, but okay.

          “The library,” Yoongi repeats, “is where, exactly?”

          Namjoon nods towards the exit. “Go left, keep walking. You’ll find it. Hard to get lost in a place like this.”

          “Yeah and it’s a big, brick building that says ‘library’,” Seokjin guffaws, laughter shrieking through the empty room.

          Yoongi cringes against the sharpness of the sound, but can’t help the way his lips quirk upward. Seokjin’s laughter is contagious. _Irritating_.

          Yoongi pushes free from the bar. “Thanks for the assist,” he grunts. “Suppose we’ll see you again.”

          As he reaches the door Seokjin calls to him. “Don’t forget! Kitchen closes at nine! Call if you need anything at all!”

          The Witcher doesn’t respond, pushes open the heavy wooden door, allowing it to swing shut in his wake as he steps free of the bar. Just before the door seals, his ears catch fragments of a private conversation.

          “I like him,” Seokjin says fondly.

          “You like everyone, hun.”

          “Yeah, but I’ve got a good feeling. Those two – they’ll be good for this town.”

          “I think so too,” Namjoon laughs. “I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

 

The barman was right. He doesn’t walk far before Yoongi finds himself standing outside of a stocky, brick building with frumpy glowing signage that reads “DAWNSIDE PUBLIC LIBRARY”. It’s hideous, if the Witcher is honest, and he is. It holds none of the quaint, pastel appeal of the rest of the town. This structure is new – the Witcher can smell it, can see it in the way it stands out like a sore thumb.

          Inside the bulky double-doors, the air is positively frigid. The Witcher inhales cautiously, finds the carpets to be stale, though the smell of old paper isn’t entirely unappealing. It’s also quiet, a massive plus.

Sidling through the security gates awkwardly, there’s barely a soul in sight, only the librarian sitting behind a desk, absentmindedly scanning books, inputting data into a small, relic of a computer that buzzes and whirs in anguish.

          The small, tired-looking man catches sight of the Witcher. His eyes widen in surprise, locking with the hunter’s gaze for a moment before flitting away, a terrified expression on his face, his rickety old shoulders curling over until his posture is small and meek.

          These kinds of reactions might’ve bothered Yoongi, back in the day. They still bother Jeongguk. But the reality is simple: the Witcher’s can’t change what they are, and no one complains when they’re slaying the monsters they fear.

          Though, no-one cries when the monsters slay the witchers, either.

          Occupational hazard. Comes with the territory.

          Being the only two, seemingly, in the place, it isn’t hard to spot Jeongguk and the young-man Yoongi assumes is Seokjin’s ‘little-cousin’, Taehyung. In actuality, the kid isn’t ‘little’, at all. He’s relatively tall, naturally broad, with features as pretty as the motel owner’s. His hair is a shade or two darker than Jeongguk’s, he stands a centimetre or two taller. When he tilts his head back, laughing loudly at something the young-Witcher has said, Yoongi is surprised to hear a deeper, dulcet tone. The librarian tries to silence the pair with a harsh ‘shhhhh’, but this only  has Taehyung laughing louder. It’s an almost pleasant sound. By the way his whole face and neck turn crimson, Jeongguk seems to enjoy it immensely.

          Yoongi rolls his eyes. Makes a mental note to warn the boy later.

          “Jeongguk,” the Witcher calls to his companion, whose eyes seemed to be glued to the form of his new friend. He tries again. “Jeongguk.”

          The kid peels his gaze from Taehyung, round eyes falling open with surprise. “Hyung,” he calls, grimacing a little as the librarian shushes him for the second time. “Hyung,” he repeats, this time quieter. “You found us.”

          “Seokjin let me know where you’d be.”

          “Soekjinnie-hyung!” Taehyung calls proudly.

          Another shush.

          “Yes,” Yoongi pulls his head a little to the side. “Gonna introduce me to your friend, Jeongguk?”

          Taehyung’s eyes zero in on the silver-haired-Witcher, and he blushes deeply, eyes raking over Yoongi’s form, slowly.

          “Oh yeah, sure. This is Taehyung. Taehyung, Master Witcher, Min Yoongi.”

          “Hello,” the raven-haired boy whispers coyly, fingers tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

          “Assume this has something to do with the ghouls,” Yoongi queries, watching Jeongguk with a bored expression.

          The kid bites his bottom lip, while Taehyung’s eyes flash back to the elder-Witcher’s face with a shocked expression.

          “Yeah,” Jeongguk huffs. “Taehyung just, found himself in a precarious situation last night, so I, uh, just offered my services.”

          Yoongi watches the pair shuffle nervously, Jeongguk’s body language protective, Taehyung’s awkward, and shy – bashful even.

          “Guk saved my life, really.” He continues to pinch at the bottom of his shirt, while the young-Witcher’s face lights up crimson at the nickname.

          “Did he pay you, for said services?”

          “Oh,” Jeongguk squirms.

          _Typical. Kid didn’t ask for payment._

“Oh I tried to pay him!” Taehyung whines, jerking towards Yoongi with a guilty expression. “He wouldn’t let me! I tried though, I swear, I did. I know it’s the Witcher creed. I’d never – I mean I’d never expect anything for free. Never.”

          “Taehyung,” Jeongguk says, quietly. “It’s fine, really…”

          It’s not fine, but Yoongi saves his chastising for when the pair are in private.

          “Taehyung agreed to give us a tour of the town – like, a trade! You know, for saving him from, from the ghouls, and all that.”

          Again, Jeongguk should know this isn’t enough. Not by a long shot. Yoongi decides to take pity and not make a scene, though the glare he sends towards his young companion is enough to have the other’s  face contort in dismay.

          “Oh yeah,” Taehyung grins sheepishly. “I grew up here – born and bred, really – so I know the place like the back of my hand. Not that it’s changed in… well, forever. I was just showing Jeongguk some old blueprints – maps of the original settlement, and stuff. He said he was into history, and all, so I thought he might like to see…”

          It’s when Yoongi and Taehyung lock eyes that the kid’s sentence falls to silence; his lips part and a short little huff escapes the open space. He licks against the pout and eyes the elder-Witcher openly, though cautiously. It’s only when Yoongi squints into his gaze, almost questioning, that Taehyung looks away again, cheeks dusted pink.

          “Learn anything interesting?” Yoongi questions, turning his attention back to Jeongguk.

          “Oh yeah, tons of stuff. Taehyung’s like – yeah he knows everything! You know they hold a medieval re-enactment festival here every year? Did you know people still do that? Apparently last year someone came dressed up as Geralt of Riv –”

          “Anything pertinent to the _job_ , Jeongguk?”

          “Oh,” the kid looks crestfallen for a moment before he carries on. “Well, not really. For such an old settlement, surprisingly little has happened here. Burned some witches, back in the day – but who hasn’t, right? Some hauntings – nothing particularly sinister. Did you notice the library’s new? It burned down twenty years ago, so they lost a lot of their records… anything that wasn’t already digitized… kind of tragic.” The kid purses his lips, sighs in resignations, fingers carding gently over the aged papers in front of him.

          Always so gentle.

          “That’s not ideal,” Yoongi muses.

          Jeongguk shrugs. “Can’t do anything about it. Besides, the monsters are recent, from what Taehyung’s told me. Whatever’s drawing them here… safe to assume it’s recent, as well.”

          “When did all this start, kid?” Yoongi turns his attention to Taehyung, who shrinks a little, expression sheepish.

          “Um,” he struggles, eyes flitting towards the ceiling. “It would’ve been just after I got back from college so like… maybe, September?”

          “And you haven’t called in help, until now?”

          “Well it was barely noticeable, at first. I mean, everywhere sees monsters sometimes. Usually they just round up a group of hunters and deal with it in house. I mean drowners are a pain, but anyone with a gun and silver bullets can deal with a pesky group of drowners, right? But it got worse. Over time. We, uh, lost someone, recently.” Taehyung’s lip quivers, he bites it into his mouth. “Guess they figured we couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

          “Who did you lose?” Yoongi asks.

          Taehyung swallows. “Um,” he scratches against his brow, eyes snaking to the floor. “My brother,” he breathes. “My older brother.”

          “Oh, Tae,” Jungkook reaches out, hand pausing awkwardly. Not sure if the contact is wanted, he touches Taehyung’s shoulder carefully, posture relaxing when the other boy reaches gently, grasping his hand in return.

          “It’s fine,” he says, sniffling. “We weren’t close. The opposite, actually.”

          “Still your brother,” Jeongguk says sadly.

          “Yeah,” Taehyung smiles tightly. “Still my brother.”

          Yoongi might be terse, but he isn’t heartless. He feels for the kid. Losing family… losing friends – the Witcher’s been through it all. Each loss stings keenly, in its own way. It’s never expected, and it never gets  easier, though Yoongi knows enough to consider himself, maybe, seasoned. But in a town like this – a place where nothing ever happens…

          No wonder they called for the Witchers.

          Taehyung continues slowly. “The farm… it’s mine now. Been in the family for generations. I’m an artist by trade so, I’m pretty much running it into the ground. I’m trying to learn. Keep the legacy alive, and all that…”

          “That’s really honourable, Tae,” Jeongguk says gently.

          “Ah, it’s whatever.” Taehyung waves him off. “It’d probably be better if I just let it alone, to be honest. I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m literally running it into the ground.”

          “I’m sure that’s not true.”

          “Oh it is,” Taehyung laughs. “Anyway, it’s not important. Got nothing to do with you guys, anyway.”

          Yoongi nods, re-joining the conversation. “Jeongguk, we’ve a meeting with the mayor.”

          “Oh yeah,” the younger nods, peeling his gaze reluctantly from his new friend. “When is that?”

          “Soon,” Yoongi says. “If you have time, Taehyung, we could use some direction.”

          The kid flashes, jolting free from whatever thoughts consume him. “Oh yeah, oh yeah of course! That’s what I’m here for, right? Tour-guide.”

          “We should make our way.”

          “Right, of course. I’ll just. Need to put these away. Then I’ll show you the way. Just, wait outside for me, yeah?”

          Yoongi nods, heads towards the exit.

          “Do you need help?” Jeongguk asks the boy.

          “Oh no, Gukkie, that’s fine. I got this. I’ll meet you outside in a sec. Thanks!”

          Yoongi doesn’t turn to see the heinous purple-red that his companion is surely flashing. Doesn’t have to. When Jeongguk joins him at his side, he simply quirks a brow, doesn’t even bother to face him: “Gukkie, huh?”

          “Shut up, please,” Jeongguk chokes.

          The Witcher reluctantly hides a grin.

* * *

 

The mayor is a fat, loud man who thinks the fact that he’s taller than Yoongi must also mean that the Witcher is intimidated by him. This logic is flawed in a number of ways that the silver-haired hunter need not mention. He finds himself zoning out during a large portion of the conversation, hopes that Jeongguk in his inability to do anything that might displease those around him, listens in his stead.

          “…and then the Kim boy died. Pity that. He was a good lad. Happy to take responsibility when his father passed – a true man, that one. His brother, though… disappointing. The farm’s sure to go under, now. Not much to be done. Sure, we’ll end up with the land, in the end. Better than nothing, I suppose. Either way, it’s always sad to see such a prolific family bite the dust. Unlucky that it wasn’t Taehyung inste –”

          “I don’t see what this has to do with us,” Yoongi interrupts. “We’re here to deal with the monsters, not with the townsfolk. Don’t give a shit about the land, or who owns it.”

          “I see,” the mayor crosses his fat sausage fingers in front of his face. Leans back into his leather chair – it screeches and grinds, raising the hairs at the nape of Yoongi’s neck.

          “When did the monsters come?”

          “September, the end of the Summer harvest. First came the scavengers – drowners, ghouls. Then the wraiths, the sirens. Larger monsters followed. Soon the town was inundated. They generally keep to the wilderness, but sometimes they venture into the town. Especially at night. Hence the curfew.”

          “Is the End of Harvest significant? It could be tied to ritual,” Jeongguk suggests.

          The mayor rolls his eyes, and the Witcher clenches his jaw. “We’re not pagan. It’s not like we sacrifice a virgin to ensure an easy winter.”

          “You never know in parts like these,” Yoongi drawls. “The town seems to think you brought us here because of the dead Kim,” he continues, “but you wanted his land anyway, so you obviously don’t give a shit. What’s this really about? You wouldn’t offer the kind of coin you know we’re going to ask unless you’re in deep shit. So what is it, really?”

          The mayor eyes him viciously. “The drowners,” he says. “Poisoning the water supply. It’s withering the crops – assume we’ll wither, eventually, as well, correct?”

          Jeongguk balks, Yoongi just nods, eyes sharp.

          “Also the ghouls are… becoming a problem. They’re taking the live-stock, and what they don’t kill, they infect. They seem to be… breeding. We’ve had to quarantine at least three settlements in the North. They’re uninhabitable. No one to tend to the crops, crops die. Crops die, money dies. Can’t have that.”

          “Figures,” Jeongguk breathes.

          The mayor rolls his eyes. “Excuse me for trying to ensure that the county remains financially viable.”

          “You’re excused,” the young Witcher seethes.

          Yoongi huffs. “We’ll deal with it, but it won’t solve all your problems. It’ll be like, throwing a band-aid on a gun-shot. It won’t last. Eventually, you _will_ be overrun.”

          “Let me worry about the future of Dawnside,” the mayor drawls.

          It’s the Witcher’s turn to roll his eyes. “Have it your way.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, opens the calculator with a bored click of his tongue. “It’ll be five-thousand for the drowners. Ten for the ghouls. We insist that you cover our accommodation, as well, seeing as we travelled to be here. We’ll charge a surplus for any trouble we encounter along the way.”

          The mayor clicks his tongue. “Fine,” he says, practically through his teeth. “Consider it done.”

          “Good,” Yoongi smiles, tight lipped. “Should be easy enough. If we need anything we know where to find you.”

          “You do,” says the mayor.

          “Well, I’ll expect half up-front – here’s the details.” He hands a crisp, charcoal colored business card to the mayor. “If there isn’t anything else?”

          “There isn’t. Allow me to see you out.”

          Yoongi almost declines, though he can’t deny himself the pleasure of watching the mayor struggle to right himself from his bougie, red-leather chair. Eventually, managing to finally make it onto two feet, he waddles around his substantial wooden desk, guiding the Witcher’s towards the exit, where he opens the ornate door with a smooth motion, stepping clear out of the way, ensuring that at no point do any of their bodies touch.

          Seemingly with great effort and much reluctance, the mayor holds out his pudgy, swollen hand. He hadn’t offered them a hand-shake on the way in – Yoongi wishes he wouldn’t offer now, either. He grimaces, wonders whether there’s any way he might be able to avoid touching the man, when Jeongguk swoops in, gripping the mayors hand tightly.

          Jeongguk freezes.

          He looks up at the mayor with blazing eyes, free hand reaching towards his chest. Then, without cause or explanation, he pulls the other towards him, has the mayor stumbling forward as he reaches towards the sleeve of his shirt, wrenching it away from his wrist.

          There, nestled against the mayors pulse point, is a small, stone pendant. It’s purple in color, fastened with an intricate knot. On either side, spanning the length of the bracelet, are a number of metals and jewels, each one adorned with a complex runic symbol. The matrix it forms is intense. It isn’t the kind of piece one might buy on accident from a street vendor. This type of magic serves a purpose.

          Yoongi steps closer. “Where did you get that?” He asks.

          “Let go of me!” The mayor tries to wrench free, but Jeongguk holds him steady.

          “He asked you a question,” the young Witcher seethes.

          “It’s just a bracelet!”

          “No it isn’t,” Yoongi laughs. “How long do you think I’ve been doing this? Think I can’t spot a fucking charm when I see one? Besides, it reeks of magic. Where the fuck did you get it?”

          The mayor huffs, tries to break free one more time before resigning to the fact that Jeongguk, though smaller, is infinitely stronger.

          “It was a gift.”

          “Bullshit,” Jeongguk spits. “Shit’s valuable. No way a witch parts with it for free.”

          “Complex runage, as well,” Yoongi observes. “Multipurpose. Gotta be a commission. If you’ve got enough cash lying around to afford something like this, I should’ve over-charged.”

          The mayor says nothing.

          “I’ll ask again,” Yoongi drawls. “Who made this? Are they still in town?”

          Reluctantly, the mayor nods.

          Jeongguk shakes his head. “And when did they arrive in town?” the silver-haired Witcher asks.

          “End of harvest.”

          The yellow-eyed pair share a look.

          “You can’t be serious,” the mayor balks. There’s a stretch of silence.

          “You’re a fucking idiot,” Jeongguk drops the man, wedging past Yoongi, out into the hallway.

          Following his companion, Yoongi calls over his shoulder: “ten-thousand for the drowners!”

          It’s the last thing he says as he stalks out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Taehyung can’t think. Can’t string three words together because he’s too busy getting lost in those amber colored eyes. At first, he’d thought they were just _yellow_. How could he have been so wrong? They’re molten amber for sure, especially now, as the Witcher gets right up in his face, demands to know if Taehyung knew ‘about the goddamn _witch!’_

The truth is, Taehyung _did_ know about the witch. How could he not? He’d arrived in town with all the flourish and fanfare of a New York City socialite. The small-town-kid had never met anyone like him: scarcely knew they existed outside of the prime-time television shows he was so fond of.

          So of course, Taehyung had gravitated towards him like a fly to honey. The way he spoke, the way his hair-color changed day to day, his cotton-candy scent, the rings that ordained his fingers and toes. And he was _kind_. To Taehyung, at least. Sure he teased, called him a baby more often than he said his name – but he also listened; held Taehyung when his brother died, let him mess up his expensive silk garments with snot and tears. Never judged him for his eccentricities.  Laughed with him, not _at_ him.

Never at him.

          So, in all honestly, it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he should mention the witch to the Witchers. These two things seemed terribly unrelated. The monsters and his witch. Two different things, for sure. They _had_ arrived at the same time, but correlation does not always equal causation: that much, Taehyung had retained from his four years at University.

          “I said: did you know, about the fucking _witch_ , Taehyung!”

          Yoongi leans even closer, nigh on grasping Taehyung by the collar. It doesn’t bother him, likes to be manhandled. He likes Yoongi, too. Realises that he smells good. Not sweet, like the town, but earthy, like rain and ozone. Fresh soil. Fresh mint. Lemon-grass. It’s a little intoxicating, actually.

          “Hyung,” Jeongguk appears at the older-Witcher’s elbow, pulls him back with significant force.

          “He knew,” Yoongi growls. “Didn’t think that information was pertinent, Taehyung? Are you literally an idiot?”

          Taehyung flinches. An idiot? Yeah, he probably is. He’s never been particularly good at thinking critically. Abstractly? No worries at all - might even call himself a prodigy. He’s never been conventionally astute: observant only in the details that don’t matter.

          “You’re not an idiot, Taehyung,” Jeongguk says.

          “No – I… I’m sorry there – there is a witch. But he’s not, I mean, he’s not _dangerous_. I didn’t think it was important.”

          Yoongi scoffs. “All witches are dangerous. If you believe otherwise, then you really are fucking stupid.”

          Taehyung flinches again, bites his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from trembling. He’s not sure why it bothers him. This – he’s used to this. Used to being humiliated by the men that he admires: brothers, teachers, friends – lovers. It’s been a couple of months, though. Maybe he’s grown soft.

          _Fuck that_ , something inside him whispers. _You’ve always been soft._

“Seriously, hyung, back the fuck up, okay? Don’t listen to him, Tae, he’s – he fucking hates witches. He’s being stupid.”

          “Shut up Jeongguk,” Yoongi growls,

          “No, it’s my fault. I should’ve said. I –” Taehyung shakes his head, glancing towards the ground. “He’s gonna fucking kill me but I can take you. Usually he brings _me_ to him, though. But I could send him a text, see if he’ll send a portal to get u – “ 

          “No portals!” Jeongguk and Yoongi shout in unison, hands outstretched.

          “Um, okay?” Taehyung’s shoulders curl in. “No portals. Got it. Well, it’s a pretty significant walk, in that case. Do you wanna go now? We could get some lunch first? I know a café - they do really good milkshakes…”

          “Now,” Yoongi deadpans.

          “Yeah,” Taehyung nods. “Um, right this way.”

 

* * *

 

Yoongi feels mildly guilty. Only mildly. The rest of his brain is consumed with a nervous anticipation, because he’s finally been able to place that sugary-sweet scent that occupies the town, assaulting his senses and awakening an ache inside that has nothing to do with old wounds.

          Not physical ones, at least.

          They traverse the landscape slowly, mostly because of Taehyung, who pants like the concept of physical activity is entirely foreign to him. Jeongguk watches over the boy with a keen eye, his hands always available, almost over-zealous in their readiness to reach out and stop the other from falling.

          When they reach the forest’s threshold, the Witchers shift into high-alert. Yoongi can already hear monster’s prowling. He allows Jeongguk ahead, Taehyung glued to the young Witcher’s arm, while the silver-haired hunter takes up the rear, yellow eyes glinting, his other senses growing dominant in the low light.

          If Taehyung was slow before, inside the twisted, brambled forest, he moves at a snail’s pace. Yoongi tries to mask his frustration, certainly doesn’t do as well as Jeongguk who seems perfectly happy, arm wound around Taehyung who smiles at him gratefully each time the young-Witcher helps him through the difficult terrain.

          In here, Yoongi’s senses are near-overwhelmed. The stench of rotting green is perverse, the sweet, cotton-candy failing to mask it entirely. He smells monsters – hears them too – but beasts also prowl these forests: hyper-aggressive hogs, no less dangerous than any ghoul, trot and snort their way through the foliage, somewhere far in the distance.

          Jeongguk, though distracted, is also on high alert. He says nothing, but Yoongi can see it in his shoulders, in the way he holds himself; in the way he curls protectively around Taehyung, hands ready to draw his sword, or his gun – whatever’s needed in the moment – to save a life.

          Jeongguk’s that type. Suited to the lifestyle, not because he’s particularly fierce, or hardened, not because he’s abnormally reckless, or brave, or fearless in the face of certain death. Rather, it’s his instinct, his need to protect those around him – it makes him one of the best Witchers Yoongi’s ever had the pleasure of knowing. And he’s known many.

          “We’re almost there,” Taehyung pants, grasping onto Jeongguk’s shoulder as he trips over a raised and tangled root. The young-Witcher saves him. “Thank you Gukkie,” he says, smiling.

          Jeongguk, as usual, flushes. “No worries, Tae.”

          They travel not two hundred metres before the tangled mess of forest ends abruptly, cutting off in a straight-line too perfect to be organic. Suddenly, they’re standing in a meadow: no vines, or incredible ferns with towering thorns; it’s all very… ‘Sound of Music’, with it’s soft green grass and lily of the valley – daisies and buttercups, bluebells, entirely out of place. 

          “This doesn’t make sense,” Jeongguk cocks his head. “These shouldn’t be here… fools parsley, celandine – that over there, that’s moleyarrow… that’s white mertyle. They shouldn’t grow here. Wrong region. Wrong climate.”

          “Fucking witches,” Yoongi growls, lips pulling over his teeth in a sneer.

          “I wish I’d known,” Jeongguk whistles. “I wouldn’t’ve brought so much with me… such a bitch to pack…”

          The Witcher inhales cautiously, expects the scent before it hits him, though it nearly bowls him over none-the-less. That cotton-candy, burnt sugar flavor brings back so many memories. Soft skin and full lips; teasing eyes that hold all the Witcher’s secrets. An incredible happiness that once lost to him, is lost forever. The sound of his laughter. _Their_ laughter. He could always make the Witcher laugh.

          It’s been so long.

          “Come on,” Taehyung grins. “Chimney’s smoking – that means he’s home.” He looks back at the pair. “Cheesy right? It was my idea. He said it was stupid but then he did it anyway. He’s like that. Always teasing, Jimi –”

          “Let’s get this over with,” Yoongi growls, marching past both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

          He reaches the door in record time, banging against the ornate wood with a closed fist. He waits for a response that never comes, banging again, a little more ferociously, but still hearing nothing. With Taehyung and Jeongguk at his back, his frustration waning,  Yoongi lifts his foot and –

          “Oh no, I wouldn’t –”

          Promptly kicks down the door.

          Inside, the scent is overwhelming. The cabin, though simple, is decorated lavishly in a style that is uncomfortably familiar to the Witcher. The palette is warm: orange and pink silks adorn the walls, with gilded sculptures and expensive trinkets of metal and jewel scattered everywhere. The floor timber, also decorated with plush rugs that would feel soft and warm beneath the Witcher’s toes if he were to remove his boots.

          He doesn’t, he steps inside with feigned disregard, looks around, expression bored but searching. He’s not surprised to find the place empty of _him_ , though his essence hangs heavily in the air. There’s the very characteristic explosion of expensive designer clothing strewn across the floors, the tables and the chairs. The wooden walls are runed, a delicate matrix drawn with crimson blood and golden ink: if his intentions had been to harm the witch, he assumes that the forced entry may have resulted in his death.

          Luckily, Yoongi is who he is. Somewhere deep in his memory, there’s a promise. ‘ _You’ll always be welcome in my home, love. No matter what. For as long as I’m alive.”_  Those had been his words. Good to know some things never change.

          Some things do, though.

          “Hyung.”

          Jeongguk’s voice pulls the Witcher free from his thoughts. He rounds a corner to the rear of cabin, finds his young companion standing in front of a mirror, staring into it’s milky reflective surface with tense shoulders.

          “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Yoongi grimaces.

          “’Fraid not,” Jeongguk breathes. “Portal.”

          “He does this, sometimes,” Taehyung says, joining them in the bedroom. “He’ll be in there, for sure.”

          “Fuck.” This time, Yoongi doesn’t bother to hide his pout.

          “How long does he usually disappear for?” Jeongguk asks.

          Taehyung shrugs. “Days, sometimes. Depends how much the town’s been hounding him.”

          “Sure he loves that,” Yoongi deadpans.

          “Hates it,” Taehyung confirms. “If he doesn’t tend to them, they riot. Literally. They think he owes them, or something, y’know, because they let him live here. It’s stupid. They’re horrible. He manages it well, though. Charges everyone a fucking premium.”

          “So they leave him alone, in exchange? For what?” Jeongguk asks.

          “Services,” Taehyung shrugs again. “He makes a lot charms. Potions, and salves… though he says most of those are bullshit. Birth control, that’s a big one. Abortions – does a lot of those. It’s illegal here, y’know? So he helps the women. He doesn’t charge much, then. They travel, to see him, from all over the county. He’s a good person. He’s prickly and he can be a bit of a pain in the ass – but he’s got a good heart.” The kid smiles at Yoongi, tight lipped. “I just wanted to say that. I don’t want you to hurt him. I know it looks… bad. But it’s not related. He’s not involved. He wouldn’t hurt anyone – I swear it.”

          Yoongi wants to snap at the boy, tell him he has no idea what he’s talking about. He resists, barely, if only because he’s already yelled at him once today – doesn’t want to deal with the guilt later, when he feels clearer, when _his_ scent is no longer invading his body in its entirety.

          “I’m going,” Yoongi growls, stepping towards the portal.

          “Wait, seriously, hyung?”       

          “Yep. Wait here. If I’m not back in an hour, come get me.” He nods towards his companion.

“Okay,” the young-Witcher nods.

“An hour Jeongguk,” he repeats firmly, edging forward, and then, just for his own ears: “if I even fucking last that long.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’s not sure if it’s appropriate to be still is so affected by him – especially after all this time. Yoongi can see the nape of his neck, the place where it dips into his shoulder in a beautiful curve. The Witcher remembers what it was to kiss the other there – the noises he used to make. It all comes back to him in a flash and for the first time since he arrived, he regrets taking this stupid job. Fuck the people, fuck the town – fuck the money. It’s not worth it.

          It’s not worth _this._

          “Just gonna stand there and balk?”

          That voice. He used to wake up to that voice, fall asleep to that voice; he used to come to that voice. There one day, and gone the next. That’s how it had been. Min Yoongi and Park Jimin. Tangential lines, he’d thought. Hoped.

But here they are again, crossing paths. Yoongi isn’t ready to see him, though he’s standing from the steaming lagoon, naked body illuminated by warm, magical light. He’s tight in all the right places – soft where it counts. He’s a work of art, as he always was: the most beautiful creature Yoongi has ever seen.

His feelings haven’t changed. It’s pathetic. Inconvenient.  

Park Jimin turns on his heel, steps from the glowing pool with all the grace of a dancer. Water beads across his skin: it looks almost milky in the light, though Yoongi knows that Jimin is all golden tones. He seems illuminated from within: it’s a mirage, or a simulacrum – the Witcher knows this – though it doesn’t change the way his breath lodges inside his throat, his whole body flashing hot and cold.

Park Jimin approaches, smile on his plush lips, slinking towards the Witcher: predator and prey. Suddenly he’s so much closer than he needs to be, crowding Yoongi’s space, that cotton-candy fragrance blinding him, dulling everything except _him._ Jimin.

They’re chest to chest, the Witcher’s hands on the witch’s naked waist, possessive as ever, squeezing into the flesh, putting all the words he can’t say into that touch. Jimin leans forward, kisses him. The witch watches, amused, eyes lidded though he doesn’t close them. Yoongi’s glad that he resists also, doesn’t allow his eyes to fall shut and give him away. It isn’t easy.

Nothing ever is, when it comes to Park Jimin.

“Love,” the witch whispers against his lips. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Neither have you,” Yoongi murmurs, voice too soft for his own liking.

“And I never will,” Jimin laughs and it still sounds like bells. After all this time.

They stand in silence for a while, the witch’s naked body tucked against Yoongi’s chest. Jimin cards his fingers through the Witcher’s silver hair, gazes at him affectionately, expression uncommonly gentle. The hunter squeezes into his old-lover’s skin, indulges in the way the other bites his lip into his mouth, smiles irreverently, an old secret flashing through his eyes.

“Still like what you see?” The witch croons.

“Jimin,” Yoongi warns.

“What is it, love?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it?” He steps closer, if that’s even possible, mouths at the corner of the Witcher’s bottom lip.

“You know why I’m here, Jimin.”

The witch squints. “Hyung,” he whines.

“You’re older than me.”

“In years, maybe… my body, though…” He wraps an arm around the Witcher’s neck

          “Stop, Jimin. Stop.”

          The witch exhales, exasperated, rolls his eyes in a quick flourish but ultimately withdraws from Yoongi’s personal space, gives the man some room to fucking _breathe_. He’s suddenly cold. It would be a lie to say the silver-haired hunter didn’t feel the loss of his warm body. Yoongi’s a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar. At least he’s still got that much going for him.

          Jimin snaps his little fingers and a robe appears inside his clenched fist. A dark, navy-blue, seeming almost black in the low-light. Despite the reds and oranges and pinks, Yoongi knows that this, instead, is Jimin’s favourite color. He curses himself for remembering, even though, in actuality, he recalls so much more than just that.

          The witch slips the silky fabric over his shoulders, fastens it around his waist, tight enough that he’s mostly covered, though his chest remains open, displayed, almost. The Witcher could reach out his hand and press his palm to the skin encasing his ex-lovers heart. He doesn’t – won’t. Those days are long past them both. Those feelings very much buried.

          “So,” Jimin sighs, plopping against a velvet chaise some distance away. A delicate champagne flute appears in his hand, the liquid inside shimmers, iridescent. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Master Witcher?”

          Yoongi supresses an eye roll, edges towards the witch with cautious posturing. “The monsters,” he says. “They came at End of Harvest. If the mayor’s being honest with me – not that he’s particularly reliable – so did you. I’m here to discern your involvement.”

          Jimin’s eyes glint, amused. “You wound me.” He takes a sip of his champagne, Adam’s apple bobbing.

          “Are you involved, Jimin?”

          “You’re joking, right?”

          “Are you involved.”

          The witch watches the Witcher with an irritated expression. He rolls his eyes, runs his fingers through his hair animatedly. “You know you’re a lot of things Min Yoongi, but I never thought you were an idiot. You think I’ve brought the monsters here? To this place? How long have I been doing this? Longer than you’ve been alive, Witcher. It took me a long, long time to find somewhere the witch-hunters would not follow. You think I give that up lightly? And for what? My own amusement?”

          “Maybe you have ulterior motives in bringing the monsters. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

          The witch huffs, rolls his eyes in a flash, and downs the remainder of his champagne in one shot. “I fear you’ve taken one too many blows to the head in the time we’ve been separate. Seems you’re no longer capable of coherent thought.”

          “Fuck you, Jimin.”

          “I wish you would,” the witch laughs. “Instead of continuing on with this tactless, meaningless interrogation.”

          Yoongi squints. “That’s never going to happen.”

          Another eye roll that has the Witcher’s lid twitching. “We’ll see.”

          “Fuck, you’re as absolutely irritating as always!” He explodes. “Some things never changed.”

          “Never used to bother you before,” Jimin laughs. “If I recall correctly, you quite enjoyed the sound of my voice…”

          “Oh, great, so now we’re getting personal?”

          “It’s always been that way between us,” Jimin whispers.

          Yoongi barks out a laugh. “Could’ve fooled me, _love_.”

          The Witcher would like to believe that he catches a flash of hurt in the witch’s eyes, but no sooner than it appears, it’s gone, leaving the man uncertain. They simply gaze at each other, eyes slitted in annoyance, leaving Yoongi to wonder how things between them ever became like _this_.

          They used to share only love.

          A phone chirps, has both Witcher and witch fisting into their pockets.

          “It’s me,” Jimin breathes, smart-phone appearing in his hand. When he clicks against the device, his face is illuminated in a harsh glow. He smiles at the screen, a gentle, caring expression replacing his irritation. “It’s Taehyung,” he explains. “Seems your boy’s getting anxious. Itching to come save you from the big bad witch.”

          “Jeongguk,” Yoongi breathes. “I told him to come fetch me in an hour.”

          “Well,” Jimin breathes. “Let’s make our way. Don’t fancy leaving Taehyung in the company of Witchers for longer than absolutely necessary.”

          “He’s made friends with Jeongguk. They’re of similar age.”

          “Of course he has,” the witch smiles, same gentle expression returning to his eyes. He pads past Yoongi, the tendrils of his scent reaching out towards the silver-haired man. “Sorry about the portal,” Jimin says sheepishly, completely unexpectedly.

          “It’s fine,” the Witcher chokes.

          “Best rip it off like a band-aid.”

          Yoongi nods, cringes none-the-less when the purple, crackling portal appears in front of him. Jimin turns, sends the other a small, coy smile, and steps through the barrier as if nothing. The Witcher, on the other hand, takes a moment to psyche himself up. He bounces on balls of his feet, rolls his shoulders, grimacing at the ugly, uncomfortable crack of his spine.

          He pouts.

          “Fucking portals.”

 

* * *

 

The first figure out of the portal has Taehyung squealing. He launches himself into his friend’s arms, who grins, stumbling backwards with a smile.

          “Tae-baby,” Jimin croons. He holds the young-man at arms-length, eyes surveying his form. Seemingly satisfied, he brushes a lock of hair out of Taehyung’s eyes and caresses his cheek gently. “I’ve missed you.”

          “It’s only been a few days, Chim,” he giggles lightly, hugs the small but sturdy witch against his chest and breathes in that comforting, sugary scent. “I’m sorry about this… I should’ve called. But I knew they wouldn’t hurt you. They’re good people.”

          The milky-mirror portal crackles some and Yoongi comes vaulting into the space, significantly dishevelled and obviously rattled. He purses his lips, swallows deeply a few times before righting himself entirely, grimacing at Jimin’s silk-clad back with a quirked brow.

          Jimin shrugs, peering around turning over his shoulder to glance at the Witcher. “It’s okay,” he breathes. “Fortunately, Yoongi and I go way back.”

          “Wait, really?” Jeongguk shuffles forward, hand grazing Taehyung’s crooked elbow.

          Jimin raises his brows, turns to Taehyung with a smug expression, light dancing in his eyes. “Well, well, Yoongi, you never mentioned that your companion was so gosh-darn handsome!”

          Taehyung turns to Jeongguk with a grin and watches him flush a number of colors before settling on pink and dropping his gaze to the floor. It’s endearing, especially considering the silver sword and shotgun that Taehyung knows rests clad against his back.

          “Could you not, for one fucking minute, Jimin.”

          Taehyung’s eyes widen. He’s never heard anyone speak to the witch like that. Imagines what the cotton-candy scented man might do if one of the townsfolk turned that kind of tone on him. Transform them into a rat, maybe? Or they might wake up with an unfortunate case of the pox.

          Jimin just grins, turns back towards the older-Witcher with an irreverent smile and winks. “You know I like ‘em sweet, love.”

          It’s logged with innuendo and laden with a familiarity that Taehyung can’t quite place. He wonders what ‘we go way back’ might actually mean. Had the pair been friends? Was there some kind of falling out? Or were they more than that? It’s difficult to tell, by the way that Jimin watches the silver-haired Witcher with amusement, while Yoongi gazes back at him with an irritated disdain.

          Suddenly, the air is pregnant with unsaid things. Taehyung squirms.

          “So I guess it’s not the witch then,” Jeongguk asks carefully.

          Jimin turns on him, smile radiant. “Park Jimin, at your service. I’m a man of many talents – including not carelessly throwing magic around, drawing in the monsters of the wilds.”

          Jeongguk looks to Yoongi; the silver-haired Witcher grimaces, but reluctantly nods.

          “Well I’m glad that’s sorted,” Taehyung breathes.

          “Though it doesn’t help us out much,” Jeongguk whines. “We’re back to square one.”

          Yoongi shakes his head, steps past Jimin, careful not to touch him. “It’s not our problem, anyway. We agreed to deal with the drowners and the ghouls. The rest can get fucked, as far as I’m concerned. If I’m not getting paid – I don’t give a shit.”

          Taehyung cocks his head. “Why’d you have me bring you here, then?”

          “He knew it was me,” Jimin grins. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you, Master Witcher?”

          “Fucking hard to ignore the fact that I can _smell_ you everywhere. You’ve cast a spell to cover the rot, haven’t you?”

          “Maybe I have… maybe I haven’t,” Jimin muses, inspecting his nails.

          “I’ll hurt you,” Yoongi growls.

          “My safe-word is ‘pumpkin’,” the witch croons.

          “For Gods’ sake –”

          “That’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Jeongguk interrupts. “That smell of rotting things. It’s not – natural. Not everywhere, like it is. Something’s wrong in this town. Something deep, inside the fabric of it. Tainted. That’s what draws the monsters. I’m certain of it.”

          “So he’s smart, too,” Jimin coos, reaching out towards the young Witcher.

          Jeongguk doesn’t move away, as Taehyung expects. He doesn’t exactly seem pleased, though, as Jimin runs two fingers, clad with metal rings, down the flesh of his cheek, stopping against a tiny scar that Taehyung had already catalogued himself.

          If anything, the young Witcher seems entranced. He watched Jimin with a cloudy expression, lips falling open, bottom lip slick with saliva. The air almost thickens, and Taehyung finds it difficult to breath watching the exchange. At the same time, he cant bring his eyes away. Entranced.

          “Jimin,” Yoongi growls, voice heavy and sharp in the silence.

          Taehyung jolts, and the witch drops his fingers from Jeongguk’s face. The young-man shakes his head slightly, as if he needs to physically clear a fog from his mind.

          “My bad,” Jimin laughs. “He really is quite lovely, Yoongi. Where on earth did you find him?”

          “Jimin!” The tone is even sharper this time, scathing. The smile drops from the witches features as he turns towards Min Yoongi with a start. Jeongguk watches, still as a statue, confused and blushing crimson right down through his neck. “We’re leaving,” the older-Witcher announces. “Come, Jeongguk. There’s nothing but fucking tricks, here.”

          “Um, yeah, sure.” Jeongguk follows after his companion. “Nice to meet you, I guess. See you later, Tae.”

          “By Gukkie,” Taehyung breathes. “Call if you need me.”

          The front door opens, promptly slams shut.

          Taehyung turns to Jimin. “So that went…?”

          “Well,” Jimin says, with a satisfied nod. “Can’t say I’m not fucking shocked, though. I haven’t seen Min Yoongi in, Gods, over a decade? I dreamt of him, a week ago. Figured he must’ve been around, somewhere…”

          The witch stares towards the door with an unreadable expression, quietly watching the exit through which Jeongguk and Yoongi had disappeared.

          “Are you okay?” Taehyung asks gently.

          Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. Eventually he laughs, pulling on Taehyung’s arms, wrapping them comfortingly around his own middle. “Just surprised. Like I said.”

          “Were you close?”

          “In a manner of speaking,” Jimin admits. “But it’s been so long. We certainly aren’t anymore.”

          “That sucks,” Taehyung breathes, resting his chin against the witch’s firm shoulder. “Did something happen?”

          Again, Jimin says nothing, just smiles tightly, squeezes the young-man’s arm before shrugging out of his grip. “Want some tea?” He asks. “Will you stay?”

          “Yeah, sure,” Taehyung smiles, settles himself inside his friend’s comfortable love-seat as the witch pads around the cabin, footsteps silent against the plush carpeting.

          He’s never seen Jimin act like this – so docile. He’s not crying, but he’s also not smiling cheekily, casting jokes left right and centre as he usually does. Something about his posture is shifted. Though he's small in stature, he’s always _felt_ so much bigger than he is; Jimin fills up any space – makes everything glow iridescent.

          At least in Taehyung’s eyes he does.

          So now, seeming almost meek, the young-man has a difficult time restraining himself. He wants to press for answers, though Jimin’s made it clear that there aren’t any to give – not right now, at least. He's disappointed, though not entirely surprised. He might feel like he’s known Jimin all his life, but in actuality, it’s only been a few months.

          He would be foolish to expect the witch to trust him, already.

          “It’s not a trust thing, Tae-baby,” Jimin muses, setting a cup of steaming hot tea in front of him.

          Taehyung balks. “Can you read my mind?” He gasps.

          “No,” the witch laughs. “Can read your face, though,” he sighs. “It was a long time ago, but some things you never get over, I guess. I’d love to tell you everything, but I don’t think I can say it all out loud. Not when it’s fresh…” he pauses, eyes shifting out of phase. “I really never thought I’d see him again.”

          “It’s okay,” Taehyung smiles gently, pulls on Jimin until his friend falls into the plush seat, curling into the young-man’s side cutely.

          In all honesty, he’s not sure he wants to know. He's only spent a day with the Witcher, he feels young and stupid, but he’s developed an immature sort of fascination. Min Yoongi with his amber eyes – how he’s small but also the fiercest thing Taehyung’s ever laid his eyes on. He wants to get to know the man better. Doesn’t know how, but he wants, none-the-less.

          “That Jeongguk, though,” Jimin laughs, breaking Taehyung free from his thoughts. “He’s cute.”

          “Yeah, he is. He’s a good buddy.”

          The witch sits up, breaking Taehyung’s hold around his waist. He gazes at the young-man with an irreverent expression, brow quirked in confusion before he laughs light and breathy. “Okay,” he says.

          “What?” Taehyung asks him.

          “Nothing,” Jimin says, nestling into the other’s side once more. “Nothing at all.”

          The conversation devolves into silence, both men happy to sit in each-other’s company. Taehyung never feels safer than when he’s with Jimin in his little cabin in the woods. It’s so different from the town he knows, the places he grew up. It’s somewhere he can be free. He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in potatoes, or the Johnson family’s eldest daughter Emily. He can just be with Jimin, talk about anything – read his substantial collection of supernatural erotica, adventure through his lavish wardrobe, all the mans jewellery, thousands of pieces, crafted from metal and precious stones.

          Jimin seems happy enough to do the same. Playing absentmindedly with Taehyung’s long fingers, carding his own digits through the boy’s silky, raven hair. He enjoys this. There’s nothing sexual between himself and the witch, though, to be touched so openly, so intimately by another man, brings with it its own type of pleasure.

          The only way his brother ever touched him, was to sock him right in the face.

          He’d meant it when he told the Witchers that the pair weren’t close. Jimin is more a brother to him than his own had ever been. When the other had died, Taehyung hadn’t cried for his loss – he cried for all the things his brother never gave him; he cried for all the love and companionship he’d never, ever have.

          But, in hindsight, gaining Jimin as a friend around the same time had felt like a fair trade. It was a dirty, secret thought that would never see the light of day. Didn't matter, really. The minute it crossed Taehyung’s mind he’d known that it was true, known that he had not turned out as good a person as his younger self had often hoped.

          “You have pretty hands,” Jimin coos, stilly playing quietly with Taehyung’s fingers. “I should make you some rings.”

          Taehyung laughs. “Thanks, I think?”

          Jimin goes silent for another long moment, lips pursed in thought. Taehyung watches him curiously, waits for him to speak.

          “You know… the Witcher’s, Tae-baby. I know you’re excited they’re here but, they’re not puppies, okay? They’re dangerous. They could hurt you.”

          “I thought they only hunt monsters?”

          Jimin purses his lips. “Still,” he says slowly. “If you get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, or, if you get in their way – even if it’s just an accident. They live by their own creed, Taehyung. The laws that you recognize don’t apply to them. They can be… volatile.”

          “Yoongi would never hurt me.”

          “You’ve known him for a day.”

          “It’s just a feeling I get,” Taehyung explains. “They’re not dangerous.”

          “Every Witcher is dangerous, baby. To think any different is foolish.”

          Taehyung giggles.

          “What?” Jimin asks, leaning away to look at his face, confused.

          “It’s just funny.”

          “What is?” The witch asks him.

          “Well, that they’re dangerous.” He laughs. “Yoongi said exactly the same thing about you.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Taehyung portals back home, night has fallen, and he’s surprised to find a certain brown-haired Witcher sitting quietly on his porch, nose buried as he scratches something hastily into the pages of a leather-bound journal.

          Taehyung might like to sneak up on him, peer over his shoulder and see what he’s doing, but he knows that, enhanced hearing and all, would be impossible. Instead, he sidles up the steps of the expansive, decorated porch, and grins in the brunet’s direction.

          “Jeongguk,” he says.

          The Witcher looks up, caught-off guard, but certainly not surprised, and buries his journal in his satchel, something catching Taehyung’s attention as it drops onto the floor, rolling out of sight. 

          Taehyung just smiles, breezing towards the Witcher with his brow half cocked. “What are you doing here, Gukkie?”

          “Oh,” he fluffs the front of his hair. “Just, wanted to make sure you got home okay. You seem fine, so, I guess I’ll be going.”

          Taehyung bites back a laugh, nips into his bottom lip. “No, don’t – Jeongguk. Stay for dinner. I – usually eat alone these days, and I fucking hate it, so you’ve done me a favor… another, favor.”

          “Um, are you – are you sure?”

          “Hell yeah. There’s always too much for me, anyway. Come with me.”

          He holds out a hand for Jeongguk, meaning to help the boy up from his seat. The young Witcher takes the offer carefully, grasping Taehyung’s fingers like he might break them accidentally. His hand is rough, callouses lining dry, tight flesh. But he’s gentle. Always so gentle.

          Taehyung smiles, gives the Witcher’s hand a little squeeze before he retracts his own.

          He leads Jeongguk to the large double doors, cringes a little as he turns the ornate golden knobs. As they step inside, the young-man doesn’t miss the way his friend takes in breath. Can’t even blame him, really, though Taehyung’s got a lot of reasons to hate this place, he can’t deny that it has charm.

          The foyer is grand, the timber polished. Beams, pillars, expensive pieces of art – the whole nine yards. It’s an immaculate, wide open space that looks towards an even grander staircase. French doors line the walls, towering fronds of manicured greenery bring life into a room that might be, otherwise, without it.

          The breeze blows in from the South. You can’t smell the rot in here, nor Jimin’s sugary scent. It just smells clean, fresh, how it used to be – how Taehyung remembers it, from when he was just a boy. It’s both comforting, and painful – to remember that this place is home.

          It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Not anymore.

          “So whaddya think?” Taehyung asks, turning to Jeongguk. “It’s a little –”

          “Beautiful,” the Witcher breathes.

          The young-man laughs. “I was going to say ‘garish’, but okay. I suppose it is.”

          “This is your _home?”_

          “That it is,” Taehyung says. “I think it might be a landmark, or something. It’s like – one of the oldest buildings in town. A sordid history of slavery, debauchery, the usual ugly, settler shit. According to my uncle’s uncle’s uncle, the Kims won it in a game of cards. We’ve always been outsiders here,” he admits. “Though my brother seemed to fit in just fine.”

          Jeongguk hums. “It’s nice that you can keep track of your history like that. I wish I knew more about mine.”

          “I’m sure there’s a massive amount of information on your school.”

          “Oh, yeah,” he laughs awkwardly. “There sure is. But I meant my, um, biological family. I know nothing about them.”

          “You’re adopted?”

          “Yeah, I am, by the Feline School” Jeongguk explains. “It’s always that way, with us.”

          “But I thought the law of surprise wasn’t a thing anymore?”

          This time, the brunet tilts his head towards the ceiling, and guffaws. “It’s not! Not really. But they still gotta get us from somewhere. No one gives their child willingly to the Witchers. You’d have to be insane. But orphanages… especially when they’re overwhelmed, or inundated. The order pays well, for children.”

          “That’s awful!” Taehyung gasps.

          “It’s not all guns and glory,” Jeongguk grins. “But they raise us well – they’re good people, for the most part. You wouldn’t know it by looking at us, but Yoongi – he’s, like my father, I guess. He’s my best friend. Been watching out for me since I was a little boy.”

          Taehyung softens. “He’s a good man.”

          “Yeah,” Jeongguk grins. “The best.”

          “Come here.”

          Taehyung slinks past Jeongguk, hears the Witcher follow closely behind. As they pass through the warmly lit hallways, the young monster-hunter ‘oohs and aahs’ at the décor, at the art, asking Taehyung quiet questions about the history, the architecture, and the land.

          They round a corner, past an ornate wooden dining table intricately lain with expensive china and glowing, golden candelabras. It’s set for one, and Taehyung scoffs. Jeongguk looks at him curiously but doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t comment on the sad scene of one single setting at a table that could comfortably sit twenty.

          When they enter into the kitchen, the smell is divine, even Taehyung can’t dispute as much. Jeongguk’s eye widen at the spread. Cold meats and cheese, roasted skewers, pastries and pudding all housed in tiny, crystal glasses.

          “Holy shit,” the young-Witcher breathes. “Is this all for you?”

          “Yep,” Taehyung seethes, popping the ‘p’. “I keep telling them to lay off. I’d be happy with a three-dollar pizza. They don’t listen, though – the staff.”

          “You have… staff?”

          “Yeah. It’s – so stupid. They’d bathe me, if I let them. I thought about letting some of them go, considering it’s just me now. But work’s scarce in these parts. They live on the money they earn here… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

          “It makes you uncomfortable,” Jeongguk observes.

          “Very,” Taehyung admits. “Going away to college was a whole new world. Cooking for myself, doing laundry. I figured out pretty quick that if a load finished and I didn’t hang it out myself, no one was gonna do it for me. Then I came home. To all this,” he motions at the food. “It doesn’t seem normal anymore, and I feel stupid that I thought it every was.”

          “You only know what you’re taught, Tae.”

          “You’re very forgiving for someone who was kidnapped by monster hunters as a baby.”

          Jeongguk laughs, and it’s a silly, maniacal sound bordering on a snort that has Taehyung smiling wildly. “You make it sound worse than it was – ‘s better than ending up in foster care.”

          “Do you like being a Witcher?” Taehyung asks suddenly. Jeongguk opens his mouth to answer, but the raven-haired boy interrupts him. “Take some food, first, Guk.” He hands the boy a plate.

          The Witcher wastes no time piling the china high with cheese and roasted meat, various fruits and vegetables until the porcelain is entirely inundated. “This looks amazing,” he licks his lips.

          “Sit down with me,” Taehyung giggles, pulling a seat free from the bar and plopping himself down. His plate pales in comparison to Jeongguk’s, being already half-way full on the cookies Jimin had insisted he eat with his cup of tea.

          “Not at the table?” Jeongguk asks.

          “Not at the table.”

          The pair sit arm-to-arm, not facing each-other. Taehyung digs into the food straight away, but Jeongguk turns to him. “Thanks for having me, Tae. This is – really special.”

          The boy rolls his eyes. “No worries. Like I said, I hate eating alone and there’s always too much. Come see me whenever you want.”

          “Really?”

          “Really,” Taehyung laughs past a mouthful of bread. “As long as you’re happy to answer all my questions.”

          “Oh,” Jeongguk smiles, finally tucking into his plate. “Yeah, whatever you wanna know.”

          They fall into an easy conversation. Being with the younger Witcher feels simple. Maybe it has something to do with the closeness of their age, or Jeongguk’s gentle nature. Taehyung learns over dinner that the monster hunter is a bit of a comedian, having the artist in stitches a number of times, desperately holding his drink inside his mouth for fear that he’ll spray it right across the bar at a joke that Jeongguk’s told.

          Being with him is calming, Taehyung decides. That usual frantic edge that he carries in his shoulders almost receding out of sight as Jeongguk tells the young-man of the close encounters and near misses of his short time as a professional monster hunter. He’s happy. It’s fun.

          And the wine. The wine has him feeling some kind of way.

          “How old are you?”

          Jeongguk starts at the abrupt question. “Um, I don’t know my real birthday, to be honest, but the Witchers came for me when I was around three, and that was twenty years ago so –”

          “You _are_ younger than me,” Taehyung croons, slouching into his seat with a satisfied grin. “I thought so.”

          “How old are _you_?”

          “Twenty-five,” he smirks, taking a sip of his wine. “You should be calling me ‘hyung’, Gukkie.”

          The Witcher looks across at the other, who cocks a brow in anticipation. “Taehyung-hyung sounds weird. Can’t I just keep calling you ‘Tae’?”

          “You saved my life, Jeongguk, you can call me whatever you want.”

          It’s not his fault, really. Taehyung’s not a good drinker. Well, he is a _good_ drinker, but the wine makes him promiscuous and he adores the way that Jeongguk lights up red every time he touches him, or makes a flirtatious joke. He doesn’t mean anything by it, and the kid doesn’t seem to mind too much. Obviously likes the attention. Taehyung’s attention. It’s a power-trip, and he’s been feeling especially out of control lately.

          So sue him. He’ll feel bad about it later.

          “So,” Taehyung hums, leaning across the bar towards Jeongguk. “’S there anything you wanna see before you go?” He bats his lashes, doesn’t miss the way the Witcher’s gaze lingers on his eyes and his lips before he opens his mouth to speak.

          “Um.” Jeongguk fluffs the front of his hair. “Actually, there is,” he admits carefully.

          “And what might that be, Jeon Jeongguk?”

          “Well, I was hoping – I was hoping that maybe you might show me –”

          “Yes?”

          “Ah, it’s – it’s dumb.”

          “Tell me,” Taehyung breathes.

          “Well, I was hoping you might - might show me your studio?”

          The elder scrunches up his face, leaning off of the bar, into his own stool. “You wanna see… my studio?”

          “Yeah,” Jeongguk says with a sheepish grin. “I mean you said you did art, so I just assumed that you probably had one here…”

          “I do,” Taehyung confirms.

          “Would you show me?”

          “You really wanna see my art?”

          “Of course I do! That’s your thing, right? I mean you saw me slay those ghouls yesterday and that’s kind of _my_ thing. So I figured I… well I wanna see what you love, I guess. I’m kind of – well I do my own drawing, and stuff, but no one ever taught me anything. I wanna see a master at work!”

          Taehyung finds himself oddly charmed. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a _master_ , Jeongguk. I could be awful, for all you know.”

          “I have a tough time believing you’re awful at anything, hyung.”

          Taehyung’s traitorous stomach does a tiny flip as he watches Jeongguk’s doe eyes widen with hope. He’s practically powerless to deny him. It’s irritating.

          “Okay, I mean, I can show you, if you really wanna see…”

          “I do!”

          Jeongguk begins to stack their plates, looking around himself with eager eyes. “Oh no, that’s okay… the staff, remember?”

          “Oh,” Jeongguk laughs. “Right – I forgot.”

          “Follow me, Guk.”

          Taehyung leads him out of the kitchen, red-wine-haze entirely forgotten as something akin to nervousness settles inside his stomach. He leads the Witcher upstairs, the younger man following him quietly, still taking in the house with eager eyes.

          Eventually they reach a closed room in the rear of the manor. Taehyung smiles sheepishly at his friend, pulls a small antique key from his pocket which he uses to unlock the door.

          “I don’t let anyone inside,” he explains.

          Jeongguk looks entirely touched. “I’m honoured,” he whispers.

          Taehyung laughs, takes a little breath and pushes open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the studio is exactly as he left it, paints strewn all over, a number of projects on the go at the same time. Sheets of charcoal sketches hanging from the walls – canvases, both large and small, ordaining every empty space: some hung, some simply leaning against the expansive glass window.

          “You should’ve come during the day,” Taehyung muses. “This room gets great light and you can see right over the farm. It’s quite pretty –”

          Jeongguk isn’t listening. He’s too busy staring at Taehyung’s work with wonder in his eyes, gaze flitting between portraits and paintings and sculptures like he’s seeing the sun rise for the first time. It makes Taehyung… uncomfortable. He’s never shown anyone his work, if only because no one’s ever asked. He wasn’t expecting much, but the Witcher looks shocked, and awed.

          “Hyung,” Jeongguk breathes. “This is –” he shakes his head in disbelief, turns towards the older boy with an unreadable expression. “These are magical.”

          “You like them?”

          “I –” he shakes his head again. “That’s an understatement.” He walks towards the far corner of the room, an unfinished piece standing stark and on display. He reaches out a hand, fingers falling just short of brushing against the canvas.

          “That’s not done,” Taehyung laughs shakily.

          “It’s gorgeous.”

          “It’s a painting of ghouls, Jeongguk.”

          “I know,” the Witcher laughs. “I know it is, but, still. The umber and ochre. The gold. The musculature is,” he sighs, “perfect, honestly. Did you paint this from memory?”

          Taehyung nods. “That’s kind of my thing,” he admits. “I like to paint moving things. Muscles and bones and sinew. I’m good at all that. I like the rawness of it.” He looks towards Jeongguk. “You’d be great to paint,” he admits.

          “Me?” Jeongguk balks, blushing.

          “Sure,” Taehyung says, stepping towards him. He takes the Witcher’s arm, lifts it tentatively, pushing his dark sleeve up past his elbow. He runs his fingers along the muscle, along Jeongguk’s exposed veins, jutting out of his skin in a beautiful matrix. “All of this,” he breathes, “would make great art.”

          “So would you,” the Witcher breathes, and Taehyung looks up at him, his usually gentle eyes filled with something unreadable.

          Taehyung doesn’t want to know, actually. He drops the other’s arm, and shrugs. “Yeah, so, this is it. Kind of underwhelming, right?”

          Jeongguk doesn’t answer for a moment. “I think it’s wonderful,” he admits quietly. “I wish I had half your talent.”

          Taehyung hums, suddenly hates having Jeongguk so close to him. It makes him feel exposed. Far too exposed.

          “It’s getting kind of late,” the older boy says suddenly. “I have to be up early… for farm stuff, so –”

          “Oh, of course!” Jeongguk fluffs his hair, flushes red again, and Taehyung looks away. “Sorry I shouldn’t’ve –”

          “No, it’s fine. I invited you. I’m – glad you came. Offers still open, for dinner, I mean. Whenever you want.”

          “Okay,” Jeongguk smiles, seems to relax as he takes in the words. “Thank you – for this. For dinner, and for showing me this. It’s really special, hyung.”

          “It’s just a hobby, these days.”

          “Never give it up, okay?” Jeongguk says, tone firm. “Promise that you won’t. You’re too special Taehyung. Promise you’ll keep working.”  

          The artist looks at the Witcher, purses his lips but finds himself whispering, “I promise,’ anyway.

          “Alright,” Jeongguk breathes, relieved. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then. Sorry I kept you so late.”

          “It’s fine,” Taehyung waves him off. “I’ll walk you out.”

          “Oh no, that’s okay. I remember the way. Stay safe, hyung. If you need anything, just call, alright?”

          The older boy nods. “Sure thing, Guk. See ya.”

          (It isn’t until later, Taehyung making his final rounds, a cup of steaming hot tea clasped carefully in his hands, that he sees it. It’s a piece of white paper, wedged underneath a small, polished stone, laying against the cabinet at Taehyung’s front door. When he picks it up, his breath hitches inside his throat a little.

          It’s a drawing – simple, but beautiful. A pair of eyes lined in charcoal, staring out of the page with feigned amusement. Behind them, behind the superficial gaze, is a melancholy that Taehyung knows well – recognizes it easily because it stares back at him each morning, through his bathroom mirror.

          Taehyung bites his lip into his mouth, picks up a small flower lying, slightly withered, but still lovely, next to the sketch.

          A Lily of the Valley, no doubt plucked from Jimin’s meadow, earlier in the day.

          There’s no signature, but Taehyung knows, none-the-less. Spied the fresh charcoal on his fingers during dinner.

          The young-man sighs sadly, pockets the drawing gently, and heads off to bed.)

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	2. ...Steel for Humans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of it's edited; some of it isn't! Exciting, right!?
> 
> As always, apologies for the messed up formatting. Hopefully it's okay.

The next few weeks progress like so:

 

Yoongi wakes up with a sore shoulder to find Jeongguk’s bed empty, remade, immaculate as always, leather bound journal wedged beneath his pillow. He splashes tepid-water across his face, checks in the mirror to find that he still hasn’t, in fact, aged a day.

          He trips down stairs, has breakfast with Seokjin and Namjoon, who, surprisingly, he doesn’t detest with every fibre of his being. Though they are heinously in love, and the former asks the same twelve questions every day that the Witcher refuses, in the same twelve ways, to answer – they’re good people. Open minded, kind hearted, and helpful. Min Yoongi can vibe with that.

          After breakfast, after bearing Namjoon’s judgement as he downs his sugary-sweet, milky coffee, the Witcher traverses the short distance to the library. For the first week, he finds Taehyung with his nose in a book, Jeongguk drooling at him like a love-sick puppy. The pair study together, every morning, though Jeongguk seems to do more staring than studying, these days.

          They begin surveying the town. Decide to deal with the drowners first because a tainted water supply is no joking matter, and as much as the Master Witcher hates the town and (nearly) all its inhabitants, he doesn’t fancy them all dropping dead, leaving him to deal with a mass graveyard. Graveyards mean ghouls. Ghouls are monsters. Monsters mean Witchers. He wants to get out of here. As soon as possible.

          As far as monsters go, drowners are relatively tame. They’re ugly, spindly, water-logged creatures who smell like sewage and have claws the size of machetes – but they’re stupid, easy to outmanoeuvre. Problems arise, when there are literally, thousands of them.

          The first day Jeongguk and Yoongi arrive at the watering hole, the Master Witcher’s mouth betrays him, falling open in dismay. He’s never seen such a large quantity of the creatures in one space before. Usually, they travel in packs of five or six, circling small stretches of shore line, scavenging, attacking anything that crosses into their territory.

          But here, Yoongi spies crowds of ten, even fifteen, lurking in and around the water, snorting ugly, digging through the sand in search of food and gold. Why do monsters like gold? He has no fucking clue. Jeongguk probably knows – Yoongi probably _knew_ at some stage – but he has a bad habit of compartmentalising and disregarding stupid, unnecessary information.

          Who gives a shit if monsters like gold? Doesn’t help when they’re snapping at you, or trying to claw your face off.  

          In order to figure out what’s wrong with the water, they need a sample. In order to sample the water, they need to be able to access it. In order to access it, they need to pass the drowners.

          The drowners don’t like this. To be fair, Yoongi doesn’t like it either. Sacrifices must be made – they’ve got a contract to fulfil, after all, though, the Witcher does wonder ever night, standing under a jet of lukewarm water, rubbing his body raw with soap that smells of lemon-grass, whether it’s all worth it. He wants to retire. Badly.

          The Drowners look about as bad as they smell, like to race up real close, leap with their claws bared, only to impale themselves stupidly on the end of the Witchers’ silver swords. Everyday they seem to make progress; everyday it looks as if they’ve made a significant dent in the population, only to return the next morning to find it practically doubled.

          “They must be breeding,” Yoongi murmurs to Jeongguk after a particularly painful day. They’re covered head to toe in rotted blood and guts, Jeongguk with a particularly nasty cut along his arm which seeps garishly across his skin. “You good?”

          “Yeah, fine,” the kid murmurs. “Stings like a bitch, though.”

          “Might need stitches,” the elder breathes. He throws the kid a vial, “Golden Oriole, down the hatch. Who knows what poisonous shit those bastards are carrying.”

          Jeongguk nods, and the pair saunter back to the town centre, the younger clutching his arm protectively against his body. When they reach civilization they get a number of nasty looks. Yoongi spares each person a sneer, in return. He’d usually just ignore, but they’ve been out in the wilderness all fucking day, crawling through guts and shit, for the betterment of the town.

          Forgive them if they smell of it. They’re only trying to save lives.

          There’s a squeal in the distance – more akin to a scream – and the Witcher rolls his eyes. A number of meters away, now bolting towards them at full speed, is Taehyung, his eyes wide and locked on Jeongguk’s bloody arm. When he reaches the pair, his hands flutter all across the younger-Witcher’s form, whining and fussing, near close to tears, demanding to know what happened.

          “Wasn’t watching my flank,” Jeongguk mutters sheepishly, face and neck blushing.

          The elder rolls his eyes.

          “You idiot,” the kid presses a palm to the Witcher’s dirty face. “Do you have swallow stocked?”

          Yoongi audibly scoffs. “Swallow treats internal injuries, it’d be useless.”

          It’s Taehyung’s turn to flash crimson, while Jeongguk sends his older companion a dirty glare. “I’m impressed that you even know what swallow is, Tae.”

          The older boy grins, Yoongi rolls his eyes, pushing towards the hotel. “Let’s go,” he drones

          “Wait!” Taehyung grabs the elder by the arm “You can’t just go home like this. Jeongguk’ll bleed out! Seokjin-hyung’ll have a heart-attack!”

          “What do you suggest?” Yoongi asks, voice clipped.

          “Well we should take him to the clinic, obviously.”

          “It’ll be shut,” Jeongguk says.

          “Yeah, but I know the doctor – Hoseok-hyung – he’s nice, he’ll help us.”

          The Witcher watches the boys for a moment, Taehyung’s eyes comparably sharp against the roundness of Jeongguk’s; he huffs, notices how pale his companion has become, and resigns to let the young-Witcher seek help, if only it means they can get back to work faster.

          “Fine,” Yoongi says. “Come back to the hotel when you’re done. We’ve got shit to do, Jeongguk.”

          “Wait,” Taehyung calls. “You’re not coming?.”

          “Why should I? Not like I can do anything.”

          The older boy looks somewhat crestfallen, While Jeongguk seems to have perked up, the whites of his eyes clearing, a lively color blossoming across his cheeks. Yoongi does his best to suppress an eye roll, satisfies his urge by sneering instead.

          He pulls his arm from Taehyung’s grip and stalks past the pair, stomping off in the other direction. “Don’t stay out, Jeongguk. I mean it!”

 

* * *

 

 

The clinic smells sharp and hard like antiseptic; Jeongguk almost falls over against the scent when the pair stumble inside, Taehyung holding his (particularly weighty) friend by his (particularly tiny) waist, the blood from his arm soaking their shirts, coating both their hands.

          “You smell disgusting,” Taehyung comments off-hand, eyeing his friend with worry.  

          Jeongguk laughs, teeth on display. “Excuse me for battling monsters, trying to save _your_ town. Besides,” he grins. “It’s no worse than this clinic. I think the antiseptic literally singed the inside of my nose.”

          “You and your enhanced senses.”

          As if to prove a point, Jeongguk’s head twitches to the side. “Someone’s coming,” he says. “I can hear them… laughing, screeching, more-like.”

          “That’ll be Hoseok-hyung,” Taehyung sighs. “He’s – just a warning – kind of, easily spooked. But he’s a great doctor. Moved here from the city with his wife a couple years ago. Said they were, ‘chasing the lifestyle’, whatever that means. He’s been great for the town.”

          The doorway opens and Hoseok steps into the waiting area, eyes bright, smile brighter. He pulls his smartphone away from his ear, clicking it off, stowing it in the gaping pocket of his lab-coat. The doctor wipes a stray tear from his eye, chuckles at the remnants of whatever made him laugh, and looks up towards Taehyung and the injured Witcher.

          Immediately, his smile drops, a gaping jaw left in its place. Hoseok’s eyes flash to the Witcher, his shoulders square, whole body going rigid before he begins to visibly back away, hands balled into fists, trembling at his side. He looks _terrified_.

          Taehyung shoots up. “No, hyung! Don’t bolt!”

          “W-Wit-W-Witcher,” he stutters.

          “I know, hyung. This is my friend, Jeongguk! He’s here to save the town! I promise, he’s not dangerous. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, this one,” he motions over his shoulder at the young monster hunter behind him.

          “Hello,” Jeongguk mumbles.

          “He’s been injured, hyung. He’s been cut badly by the drowners near the watering hole. He needs your help. You’ll help him, right?” Taehyung eyes the doctor hopefully, stepping towards him tentatively with outstretched arms.

          “H-How b-bad is it?” Hoseok asks, quivering a little, but no longer backing away.

          “It’ll heal on it’s own if I leave it, Taehyung. Maybe we should just g –”

          The artist turns on him. “No way, Jeongguk. You’re white as a sheet, right now. And it hasn’t stopped bleeding. You need to be treated.” He turns back to the Hoseok. “He needs a doctor. And I swear, I wouldn’t’ve brought him here if I thought he was gonna hurt you, okay? He’s the gentlest man I know.”

          Taehyung may or may not hear Jeongguk’s breathing stutter behind him, he’s too focused on keeping eye contact with Hoseok, making sure the doctor doesn’t cut his losses and run.

          “On his first night here he saved my life, hyung. Didn’t ask for compensation. Refused it, actually. You’ll help him, right? You’ll help my friend?”

          Hoseok watches, eyes Jeongguk carefully for another long moment. He almost looks as if he might say no, but eventually, he pulls against the bottom of his shirt, straightening the fabric as much as possible before he motions towards the pair.

          “Come through,” the doctor says, quietly. “That looks painful. Let’s get it fixed up.”

          Taehyung sags, turns to Jeongguk beaming; the Witcher gives him a cute little smile, his two front teeth jutting across his bottom lip, making him seem so young, even in spite of the fact that he’s clutching a heavily wounded arm that currently drips bright red blood onto the tiled, reception floor.

          They follow Hoseok into the bowls of the clinic, Taehyung slinging an arm over the doctors shoulder reassuringly, burrowing his forehead into the older man’s temple – his own unique, wordless thank you. The doctor smiles brightly, though his bottom lip quivers some; he glances over his shoulder to the Witcher, Taehyung following his gaze, finding Jeongguk particularly worse for wear.

          “Gukkie,” he breathes. Falling back, he offers his own body as support.       

          The Witcher resists, if only for a moment. Eventually, he slings his uninjured arm over Taehyung’s shoulder, nestles into the young-mans side as if it’s the safest place he knows.

          When Jeongguk acts like this, Taehyung feels… uneasy. He won’t push him off now, though. Not when he’s injured, and hurting. He lets the younger-man rest his head against Taehyung’s awkwardly as Hoseok ushers them into a small treatment room.

          Jeongguk scrunches his nose against the prevalent antiseptic smell, and Taehyung coos quietly at the sight. He helps the younger onto the bed, hands on either thigh to ground him.

          “How ya doing?” He asks.

          “Fine,” Jeongguk says. “Kinda tired.”

          “Let’s have a looksie, then,” says the doctor.

          Hoseok slips on a pair of gloves, allows Taehyung to shuffle out of the way. He has to peel back Jeongguk’s sleeve, which look particularly painful. Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are heavy on Taehyung, who reaches out, takes the young-Witcher’s uninjured hand in his own and squeezes it firmly.

          “Yikes,” Hoseok breathes.

          “Wasn’t watchin’ my flank,” Jeongguk mumbles.

          “You’re supposed to be good at this,” Taehyung laughs. He can’t help himself, reaching out to brush the younger’s sweaty, mucky bangs out of his eyes. Jeongguk preens, grinning, flushing pink, and Taehyung doesn’t feel awkward. He just feels… useful.

          Hoseok breezes across the room, takes a small vial from a small cabinet, which he loads into a sharp syringe, poising it above Jeongguk’s injury. “You running on any decoctions right now?”

          Jeongguk shakes his head. “What’s that?” The Witcher asks.

          “Local,” the doctor explains. “Gonna hurt.”

          He injects it into a number of points across the wound. Jeongguk sighs, a breathy smile passing across his face.

          “What is it?” Taehyung asks.

          “You have no idea how much of a luxury this is. Yoongi usually makes me suffer through.”

          “You guys deal with this in-house, I guess?” Hoseok asks, already at work cleaning the wound, sterilizing the gaping gash.

          Jeongguk hums in confirmation, though Taehyung barely manages to supress a cringe. He’s not super hot with blood. Especially when it’s his own, but also when it’s somebody he knows, cares for. His eyes zero in on Jeongguk’s face, and the Witcher seems entirely unbothered. He’s actually got a small smile on his lips, aber eyes casing across the room with interest.

          “Look away, Tae,” Jeongguk whispers, noticing the young man’s unease.

          He brushes the back of his fingers against Taehyung’s cheek, gently coaxing the young-man’s eyes away from the wound. It’s oddly intimate, even with Hoseok standing between them, and Taehyung wonder’s how he got so close to Jeongguk in such a short amount of time.  

          He kind of knows the young monster-hunter has a crush on him. It’s not the first time this’s happened. Taehyung is, after all, uncommonly handsome – was, even in the city. In a small town like Dawnside, he might as well be model with Chanel, or Gucci.

          And he _could_ allow it to come between them – this crush; instead, he compartmentalizes: rationalises that the young man spends most of his time in the wilderness, fighting creatures that smell like shit, _look_ like shit, try to claw his face off while the Witcher tries to just save lives.

          So, he allows Jeongguk his little infatuation – offers him the courtesy of admiring him, of enjoying his attention, even though he doesn’t reciprocate. Because Taehyung swears that he’ll push the other back, if the young Witcher ever tries to move across that thin little line. He isn’t particularly worried, though. Jeongguk is polite to a fault. And gentle. Always shy.

          Maybe that’s the reason the young artist’s attention always drifts elsewhere, to rougher, silver-haired waters.

          “Alright, well,” Hoseok huffs, breaking Taehyung free of his thoughts. “It’s a nice, clean cut. You might scar a little but there’ll be no damage to the muscle, or anything. Especially with your enhanced healing. Just make sure you keep it clean. Assume you’ve taken something to fight toxicity?”

          “Golden Oriole,” Jeongguk says.

          “Perfect,” Hoseok shrugs. “That’ll do. I’ll start stitching you up, if you’re good?”

          “Easy, breezy, beautiful,” Jeongguk mumbles, and Taehyung laughs, wiping a clump of dirt away from his friend’s cheekbone with a long, slender thumb.

          The pair share a look that Taehyung feels right down in his toes.

          “So, how’s things, hyung?” The artist asks casually, breaking free of Jeongguk’s gaze. “How’s Caitlin?”

          The doctor smiles, hands moving deftly across the Witcher’s arm, looping and pulling, tying an intricate suture. “She’s good. A little bored, maybe. Very unappreciative of the fact that there’s no such thing as ‘next-day-delivery’ in Dawnside.”

          Taehyung chuckles. “Caitlin’s Hoseokie-hyung’s wife,” he explains.  

          “That’s nice,” Jeongguk mumbles. “How long have you been together?”

          The doctor huffs, brows shooting towards his forehead. “Ah, it’ll be… twelve years, in October?” He glances at Taehyung. “Don’t tell her I had to think about that one.”

          The artist grins. “Secret’s safe with me, hyung.”

          “What does she do?” Jeongguk asks.

          “She’s an editor. Worked for a big publishing house in the City. It wasn’t easy for her to come here. She misses civilization.” The doctor shrugs, and Jeongguk looks at him with so much sympathy that Taehyung feels a little choked up.

          “That’s very honourable,” the Witcher says. “You must be very in love.”

          “We are,” Hoseok smiles gently. “She’s my best friend.”

          Again, Taehyung catches Jeongguk’s gaze in a poorly-timed meeting of eyes that has him flashing hot and cold before breaking away, staring at the white, empty wall of the treatment room as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. He doesn’t dare to turn back and check the other’s expression – only imagines he might look disappointed.

          “Alright,” the doctor says, already laying a bandage over Jeongguk’s arm. “All done. Try to keep it clean – as best you can. I’d warn you about fever and the like, but you can’t exactly get sick, can you?”

          “Nope,” Jeongguk grins. “One of the perks.”

          Hoseok smiles brightly, rolls his eyes. “Well it’d be good if you could lay off for a while, but seeing as you’re a Witcher, I don’t suppose that’s an option. So – if you fuck it up, or tear your stitches, come back and see me. I’ll fix it right up for you.

          “Thank you, Doctor,” Jeongguk nods. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

          “Shucks,” Hoseok wriggles, shuffling across the room.

          “Is he good to go, doc? Promised we’d have him home before dinner.”

          Jeongguk laughs, rubbing his neck, flashing his usual rosy hues.

          “Yeah, sure,” Hoseok smiles. “Get outta here; I needa get home before sundown.”

          “If you need anything, Doctor, please, call. I’m entirely in your debt.”

          Taehyung smiles across at his friend, affection clouding his brain. He’s never met anyone so lovely in his entire life – anyone so entirely ready and willing to help those around them. It’s a foreign concept, to the artist. Selflessness had always been synonymous with pain, to him. So, in the end, he turned inward, fled to the City with his tail between his legs.  

          They bid the doctor farewell, Jeongguk going so far as to lean over and give the older-man a hug. Hoseok goes still as a statue, eyeing Taehyung, confused, before wrapping his arms around the Witcher and reciprocating, face breaking into an easy smile.

          They depart, returning to the motel in affable silence. At least, Taehyung hopes it’s affable. Inside, his brain is racing, as it sometimes does, usually without cause. He feels exposed and confused, standing arm to arm with Jeongguk.

          He watches the Witcher out of the corner of his eye, doesn’t even pretend that he can’t see how attractive he is, especially in this light, illuminated by the afternoon sun. He knows he’s gorgeous: sweet looking, with the capacity to take a nigh-on _hot_ edge from the right angle. Even though his nose is a little too prominent – even though his top lip, a little too small for his bottom – his teeth a little misaligned. None of it matters. He’s swoon worthy.

          So why doesn’t Taehyung feel it? That same feeling he gets when the Master Witcher, who barely spares him an irritated glance, barks something in his direction.

Because Jeongguk would be _good_ for him. He’d look out for him – care for him…

          None of it matters, though.  

          He just doesn’t _get it_.

          As Jeongguk watches him warmly, are his eyes sparkling with affection; fingers reach out to brush a lock of hair out of Taehyung’s eyes. The artist dodges, tries not to apologize out loud when the other’s happy expression stutters, falling.

          “Here we are,” Taehyung says with a nervous laugh, slicing into the heavy silence.

          “Yeah,” Jeongguk murmurs, “thanks for your help today. Do you – wanna come in and have dinner?”

          The words are out before he has a chance to stop them. “Will Yoongi be there?”

          Jeongguk cocks his head, watches Taehyung with a strange expression. “He doesn’t usually eat in the evenings.”

          “Oh,” the artist nods. “That’s cool, then. I don’t wanna mess up your work schedule.”

          “You wouldn’t –”  

          “No, that’s totally cool,” Taehyung calls, already turning away. “You should head up. Don’t keep the master waiting.”

          Jeongguk bites his bottom lip. “Okay,” he nods. “Head straight home. The sun’s dipping.”

          “Oh, I will! Don’t wanna get dead.”

          “Yeah,” the Witcher mumbles, his expression, maybe, a little less open than it used to be. “I’ll see you. Call if you need me.”

          “Cool, cool.” Taehyung waves, walking backwards. “Say hey to Yoongi for me!”

          “I will.”

          He turns his back. Cringes. Hates himself.

* * *

 

Yoongi leans back in his chair, front two legs lifting from the ground. He’s curled over the small desk in his musty, shared hotel room, shoulders aching, eyes burning because he can’t find his glasses and the microscope controls are tiny and finicky and Jeongguk usually deals with this shit, not him.

          The young-Witcher hasn’t returned, and something particularly irritating curls inside the elder’s stomach. Was the bleeding, maybe, worse than he’d thought? Was Taehyung, perhaps, even more incompetent than he appears? Did he leave Jeongguk to bleed out? Were the pair attacked by monsters, the young-Witcher too injured to protect them, both falling prey to a Harpie, Chort, or Endrega?

          He drums his fingers against the desk, tries to squelch the bubbling in his stomach. After all, Jeongguk’s safety isn’t his problem anymore; he might call the kid ‘ _kid’_ , but, in reality, he’s older than Yoongi was when he set out on the path, on his own, for the first time. He’s wiser, certainly – strong, without a doubt.

Either way, though he won’t admit it out-loud, he _worries_. Jeongguk is skilled and brave, but he’s also reckless in his ever-present desire to protect those around him. That’s how he’d been injured in the first place.

‘ _Wasn’t watching my flank,’_ – that’s what the kid had said to Taehyung. What he’d _meant_ , though, was: _‘I was too busy watching Yoongi’s flank, because I’m an idiot; because I care too much; because Yoongi’s been doing this for over three decades longer than I have, but I still worry about his safety before my own.’_

          The Witcher shakes his head in irritation because he’s got a distractingly large, oozy, caramel-flavoured soft spot for his young-companion, who he’s known – who he’s _raised_ – since the kid was just a boy.

          And Jeongguk was the cutest, much to the Witcher’s intense chagrin, back then. Big doe eyes, button nose – so eager to please. Eager to please _Yoongi._ He’d attached himself to the elder’s hip and never let go; followed him everywhere; he was always watching, always mimicking and emulating the Witcher’s every move.

          Suddenly Yoongi was a role-model, an idol; suddenly his influence mattered; the things he said out-loud, mattered - his opinions, and his actions, and the way he treated other. It all matter. It all became important because Jeongguk was watching, and learning, and growing _from_ him.

          So he did better, worked harder, tried, as difficult as it was, to be the kind of man he might like, himself, to look up to.

          Had it paid off? Jeongguk was strong, and brave and kind; he grew up even tempered, and positive – resilient, hard-working, and just genuinely fucking _good._ Yoongi’s  a great Witcher. He feels no shame in admitting that much. He’s taken down countless ghouls, saved cities, fought monsters five times his size – battled a dragon once, too. Won, fortunately enough.

          But Jeongguk has always been his greatest triumph. That’s a secret he’ll likely take to his grave.

          The Witcher pushes free from the cramped desk, taking his jacket and weaponry from his bed where they lie carelessly discarded. He’s quick to suit-up, even quicker to check his ammo and decoctions, though he scowls, irritated at how fast they seem to be blowing through their limited stock.

           Hand poised on the door-handle, he resolutely tells himself that he is _not,_ in fact, going to search for Jeongguk. He’s no helicopter parent. Shit – he’s no parent at all. He’s simply going for an evening stroll (in a monster-infested town) to stretch his legs, escape the frigid, drying air-conditioning, for a while.

          He opens the door, and –

          “Jeongguk.”

          “Hyung.” The kid meets his gaze, surprised.

          “- where were you?”

          “- where are you going?”

          Yoongi scowls, irritated, his eyes surveying Jeongguk quickly. He’s please (and annoyed) to find that he has not, in fact, been eaten by a dragon. He looks… good. Better than he did when they parted, his arm no longer oozing blood, no longer clutched against his chest.

          “I just got back from the clinic,” Jeongguk explains. “It took a little longer than expected. The doctor, he’s nice. Pretty sure he’s a Doppler, though.”  

“How d’you figure that?”

“Well, when he came in the room he set my amulet right off. Then he shook like a leaf when he realised what I was.”

“All people fear Witchers.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Nah, he was _terrified._ Nigh-on passed out at the sight of me. But Taehyung asked for his help and he couldn’t resist. Seems like a really nice, kind-hearted person. He’s a good doctor.”

“Why’s he here, then?”

Jeongguk gives him a look. “Moved here from the City a couple years ago. ‘ _For the lifestyle’.”_

“Fleeing the Witch-Hunters.”

“Sounds like.” Jeongguk pushes into the room. Halfway in, he pauses, eyes smiling. “Wait, were you coming to look for me, hyung?”

          The elder scoffs. “As if,” he says. “I was, going downstairs. To see Jin. Have a drink, maybe.”

          “With all your weapons, hyung?”

          “Yes, with all my weapons,” he seethes. “I thought I might go for a walk.”

          A grin flashes across Jeongguk’s face, which he masks, expertly. “What about all the ‘work’ we have to finish?”

          The Witcher watches his companion, eyes slitted. “I can’t find my glasses,” he says.

          Jeongguk’s lips tremble and his shoulders jerk with an inaudible laugh. He reaches towards Yoongi’s face, the elder jerking away before Jeongguk clicks his tongue, chastising, touching against the other’s hair gently before he pulls back.

Clasped in his grip are Yoongi’s small, wire-rimmed glasses.

          “They’re on your head, hyung,” Jeongguk whispers, his voice thick with amusement.

          If Yoongi _could_ blush, maybe he would. Instead, he scowls, turning on his heel, mumbling angrily about ‘old-age’ and ‘failing senses’ while Jeongguk snickers quietly at his shoulder.

“Senior moment,” Jeongguk laughs, and the elder shoots him a look that has the young-Witcher spluttering an apology between the spit that he’s suddenly choking on.

          He should’ve known. _Did_ know, if he’s honest, that days like this were gonna come. Days when he’s more reliant on Jeongguk than Jeongguk is on him. Days were his memory fails – where his age becomes obvious despite the fact that he barely looks a day over thirty.

           The kid clears his throat. “So, uh, make any great discoveries while I was gone?”

          “Can’t see shit without my glasses. Besides, the fucking microscope isn’t working.”

          “Oh, really? I hope it’s not broken,” Jeongguk mutters, “it cost a fortune…”

          The young-Witcher already has his hands on the clunky, metal device, turning knobs and adjusting settings like it’s second nature. Eventually, he peers into the scope, continues to tweak the device, before he sits back with a  self-satisfied expression.

          “It’s not broken,” he says. “You just didn’t adjust it right, again. Remember I told you that the ratio has to be a –”

          “Really don’t care, Jeongguk. If _someone_ wasn’t so busy traipsing around town with their new Golden Retriever –”     

          “Hey, he’s not – don’t talk about him like that. You should really be nicer to him. Not everyone gets you like I do, hyung. You could really hurt his feelings, y’know?”

          “That sounds like a ‘him’ problem, not a ‘me’ problem.”

          Jeongguk huffs, installing samples into the microscope. “He told me to say ‘hi’ when I got back.”

          Yoongi frowns. “Why?”

          “Because he likes you, hyung. Obviously.”

          “That’s stupid. I couldn’t give a shit about hi –”

          “Well _I_ like him,” Jeongguk interrupts, peering into the scope. “So maybe you could put in a little effort here and there. You’re embarrassing sometimes, hyung.”

          Yoongi laughs. “We’re all very aware that _you_ like him. _Gukkie_.”

          The kid’s shoulders still, hands freezing against the microscope’s controls. “That’s not – I mean that I like him like –” Jeongguk huffs. “ _I’m just saying that he’s nice_ , is all.”

          “Uh-huh.” Yoongi quirks a brow at Jeongguk’s back, smiles openly (because no one’s watching) at the fact that the kid’s neck is bright, tomato-red.

          They sit in silence for a while, Jeongguk working quietly, Yoongi not bothering to tease him further because he knows the young-Witcher can only take so much before he turns into a sulking mess and gives the elder the silent treatment for the next three days.

          Jeongguk hums eventually, leaning away from the microscope. “Come look, hyung.”

          Pushing free from the bed, Yoongi rounds Jeongguk’s shoulder, leaning over the other so he can peer into the lens, eyes squinting, even though he has his glasses this time. There, tiny, but visible none-the-less, is exactly what they’ve been looking for.

          “You were right,” Jeongguk breathes.

          “Those slimy mother fuckers.”

          “And with the weather being how it is… ‘s no wonder the populations booming.”  

          Yoongi stands, scowling towards the ceiling. “This is going to be a huge fucking problem.”

          “It’s the embryonic mucus that’s poisoning the water-way, I guess. In such large quantities, as well. Do you think they’ll have to dredge?”      

          “Won’t know ‘til we’re down there. Fuck – I hate this fucking town.”

          “We’ll need Killer-Whale,” Jeongguk groans. “Superior. I don’t have the ingredients for that. I mean, maybe I could place an order and have it delivered but –”  

          “Fuck that, Jeongguk. We’re in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. It’d take forever and I don’t wanna stay here for a minute longer than we have to.”

          “What do you wanna do then? I mean we can dive without it, but it’ll take ages if we have to keep coming up for air. Besides, if they start attacking us underwater – which they probably will considering they’re _nesting…_ I just don’t really fancy it. But, like I said. I don’t have the stock. I _might_ be able to ‘round up some buckthorn at the lake, but Dwarven Spirit and Balisse Fruit? They don’t exactly stock it at the local liquor store. Balissa doesn’t even grow here…”

          “It does,” Yoongi growls, resignation clouding his tone.

          “What do you mean ‘it does’? It’s a winter berry, there’s no way –” Jeongguk twists around in his chair. “The Witch’s meadow,” he gasps. “You think he’ll have some?”

          “If he doesn’t, he’ll know where to get it.”

          “Oh that’s great news!” Jeongguk shouts, though Yoongi disagrees. Vehemently. “I can go see him tomorrow. The sooner we get this done the better. Who knows how many –”

          “I’ll go,” Yoongi drawls.

          “What?”

          “I said, ‘I’ll go’. I don’t want you anywhere near the witch.”

          “I thought you said you were friends?”          

          “I said we _knew_ each other,” he corrects. “Not that we’re friends. He’s a dangerous, manipulative, sack of shit and I don’t want him even _breathing_ in your direction, Jeongguk.” He looks over at the younger. “Do you understand? Even if your Golden Retri – even if _Taehyung_ says otherwise…you stay away from the witch, you hear?”

          “Um,” Jeongguk fumbles, expression confused. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says. “I’ll stay away from the witch.”

          “Good,” the Witcher breathes. _For you, at least._

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Yoongi leaves for Jimin’s before sunrise, before even Jeongguk wakes. This is mostly because he hasn’t slept a wink, instead spending the night tossing and turning, sharp eyes and full lips invading his mind if he even so much as _drifted_ towards unconsciousness.

          The sky is light-blue and the air half as suffocating as usual, the smell of rot seemingly absent in the early hours, leaving only the Witch’s sugary scent – Yoongi, rolling his eyes against the invasion.

There are no monsters near, as far as his enhanced hearing tells him. It’s at this time that everything sleeps.  The sun, the breeze, the people and the monsters. Everyone but the Witcher, who walks the path towards the wood solemnly, quietly, his hands moving free and easy at his side, though always ready to draw a gun, or a sword.

Yoongi is the most comfortable when he’s alone. When there is no one to protect, and nothing to destroy. Solitude is thankful, and hard to come by – socialising, he hates, though he’s forced into the act more than he ever cares to be.

So, he enjoys these moments. The temperate air, nature, ebbing and flowing around him. Even the monsters, snorting and shuffling far in the distance; all the living things that exist in the world, hunting and breathing, giving life, taking it – this strange circle in which we all play a role.

That’s the difference between the Witcher and most people he knows. He doesn’t hate the creatures he’s paid to destroy. Sometimes they irritate him; often, they hurt him. In those moments, he has to admit that he feels a certain disdain.

But, otherwise?

An Arch-Griffin, dangerous, a murderer only in that it seeks to protect it’s young; wraiths, bound to the earth in which their corpses lay, cursed to seek the answers to the questions they could not absolve in life; ghouls and drowners, scavengers, creatures of instinct, no more or less evil than a hyena, or a vulture. A succubus, pleasure sought only for life, but given only in death.

Everything, just trying to survive in a world they were never meant to inhabit in the first place – thrown together, onto this plane, in a Conjunction of Spheres – lost and confused, unaware: a millennium later, the scars of it still prevalent.

          But man? Man has always been here.

          Why do Witchers carry steel, then?

          Because monsters sometimes walk on two legs, give you a smile and a wave, ask you how the kids are doing.

          So no, Yoongi doesn’t hate the monsters, knows that one day there will be none left: globalisation, industrialisation, the Witchers, having hunted them to extinction.

In turn, perhaps in recompense, there will be no Witchers.  His profession, a dying profession, a profession of necessity.

          One day they’ll be extinct too.

          Ironic.

          Fair.

          He traverses the landscape in half the time, unhindered by stragglers as he had been in the past. Quiet as it is, the forest looks half as malicious as it had weeks ago. He stops from time to time, collecting herbs and flowers, ingredients Jeongguk might like to use – if not for potions, then simply to catalogue the local flora. The Witcher doesn’t understand it, but his companion is into this shit. Doesn’t judge him for being an intolerable know-it-all because, honestly, it’s saved their asses more times than Yoongi cares to admit.

          Sooner than he’d like he arrives at the Witch’s meadow, sitting peacefully, beautiful as it is out of place. The purses his lips at the smoking chimney, does his best not to roll his eyes. The scent of the witch is stronger here than anywhere else in the town. It’s heady – the Witcher used to get drunk on it, but now it just hurts behind the eyes, makes him rub at his face in an effort to clear whatever secrets his expression might give away.

          The worst part is he can hear the witch singing. He’s been hearing it for miles, sweeter than honey, a song he recognizes from long ago – a song about him probably, or, at least, a song he taught the witch himself.

 

 _Wolves asleep amidst the trees,_  
Bats all a-swaying in the breeze,  
But one soul lies anxious wide awake,  
Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths.

Jimin was always a good singer, was always good at everything. But he was never _good_. Or maybe he was, Yoongi can’t remember anymore. All he has left is the ache.

 

 _Birds are silent for the night,_  
Cows turned in as daylight dies,  
But one soul lies anxious wide awake,

_Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths._

 

 _For the Witcher, brave and bold,_  
Paid in coin of gold,  
He’ll chop and slice you,  
Cut and dice you.

_Eat you up whole,_

_Eat you whole._

“I knew you were coming,” Jimin says quietly, hands carding through the tall wild flowers in his garden. “I had a dream,” he explains.

          Yoongi shifts uncomfortably, decides to cover his shaking hands by crossing them over his chest tightly. “Was I throttling you in your sleep?” he asks, tone sharp.

          “Not exactly,” Jimin looks up, smiles coyly, lips hiding a grin that might give away the explicit meaning behind his implicit response.

          Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

          “Not around you, love.”

          “Don’t call me that. Not your _love_.”

          “Oh but you are,” the witch croons, stalking towards the Witcher: predator and prey. As always.

          “I need something from you.”

          “You’re telling me you’re not just here for a friendly visit?” Jimin smiles, eyes flashing. “I’m shocked. Truly, I am.”

          The Witcher stalks across the garden, pretends that he’s surveying its contents when in actuality he’s avoiding the witch like the plague. It’s been so long since he was alone with Jimin. Truly, honestly alone. He doesn’t remember the threshold: how far the other can push before the Witcher gives in to his whims.

          Doesn’t wanna find out, either.

          “This isn’t a joke, this is business,” he says tersely. “I need supplies. You and your freaky, magic meadow are the only resource from which I can get said supplies. That’s why I’m here. End of story.”

          “I see,” Jimin nods. “You’re not much fun, you know?” He exhales, bending over to pull a clump of weeds from the ground. “You used to be fun.”

          “I wonder why that is,” he says pointedly.

          Jimin looks up, irritated. “You’re blaming me?”

          “I’m not blaming _anyone_ ,” Yoongi growls. “If I was, it would mean that I was here with a motive _other than_ collecting supplies. Like I said, my purpose is singular. I need ingredients. Dwarven Spirit. Balisse Fruit. As much of it as you have.”

          “And how will you pay for said supplies?”

          Yoongi gnashes his teeth together. “I have money,” he says.

          The witch laughs. “You know very well that’s not how this works.”

          “No, Jimin,” Yoongi growls. “No.”

          “Well, then you can kiss your supplies goodbye. It was nice not doing business with you.”

          “You’re a fucking asshole.”

          “Wouldn’t mind if you fucked my assho –”

          “Jimin.”  Yoongi cards his hand through his silver hair and huffs toward the sky. He doesn’t want to beg. He does anyway. “I really, really, desperately need these supplies, Jimin.”

          “And you can have them,” the witch says. “For the right price.”

          The Witcher barely resists the urge to stomp his foot like an indignant twelve year old. He turns his back on the other, grumbles under his breath knowing full well that the other can hear him – goes through the seven stages of grief, spends an inordinate amount of time on anger and bargaining.

          He turns around. “I’m retiring after this contract,” he says.

          “Boring,” Jimin yawns.

          “Sometimes I worry about Jeongguk so much that I can’t sleep at night.”

          “Obvious,” the witch laughs. “You’re the worst kind of parent.”

          Yoongi bites his tongue, resists the urge to snap at the other. He wracks his brain, clenching his jaw so tight it hurts. “Jeongguk’s in love with Taehyung!”

          The witch grins. “That’s not your secret to tell.”

          Yoongi rubs his hands across his face, that urge to stomp his foot into the ground rearing its ugly head once more because it’s not that he doesn’t have any secrets left: he does – of course he does – but these are secrets that he doesn’t want to tell.

          “That’s what makes them valuable,” Jimin grins.

          “You reading my mind, witch?” Yoongi seethes.

          The other scrunches his face. “Why does everyone keep saying that? It’s not my fault you’re all so fucking transparent.”

          Yoongi scowls, turns towards the sky, resigned to his fate.

          “I missed you,” he breathes into the open air.

          The witch scoffs. “Who wouldn’t?”

          “Jimin.” It’s almost a plea. The other turns, expression unreadable though eye to eye, now, and Yoongi allows his own features to falter for a moment, expose him. “I miss you.”

          They gaze at each other, the Witcher’s secret hanging heavy between them. So heavy that he almost cant breathe; so heavy that it suffocates him, fills up his lungs, acrid – so poisonous that he almost chokes on it. And Jimin’s eyes, maybe they tell their own secret, in turn, but Yoongi can’t tell. Doesn’t wanna know.

          The witch might still be able to read him, but these days, it’s a one way street.

          “I have what you need,” Jimin breathes, eventually, destroying the heavy silence. “I’ll have it delivered to the hotel by sundown.” The Witcher nods. Doesn’t even thank the witch for his services. Jimin stands. “But Yoongi you have to know that I mi –”

          “No,” he shakes his head, arm stretching out, silencing the other. “I don’t. I don’t care.”

          He leaves the meadow, then, eyes burning, near retching as the cotton-candy overtakes him.

 

 

* * *

 

Four days later, they stand on the edge of a small hill, watching over the watering hole, Jeongguk already shrugging his shirt over his broad shoulders, Yoongi gazing across at the water with absolute, unadulterated disdain. The young-Witcher thrusts a small vial into the elder’s hand.

          “Take this,” he says.

          Yoongi looks down, grimaces at the drowner pheromones. “I don’t wanna,” he whines.

          “I don’t fancy dying,” Jeongguk responds.

          “Gotta go somehow.”

          The kid looks across at him with a scowl that has the elder unbuttoning his own shirt, opening the vial, and dousing himself in the musky fluid. To be frank, it smells like shit. Worse than shit – but it’s an effective deterrent. The drowners are stupid enough that they won’t attack. Not when the pair are masked inside their own scent.

          Fifteen minutes later, pheromone solution settled inside their pores, Jeongguk passes another small vile to the other. This one is filled with a syrupy, umber potion that looks about as delicious as Yoongi knows it tastes. He pouts.

          “Good batch?” He asks the other. Jeongguk nods solemnly. “Master of Potions, as always, Kiddo.”

          “Learned from the best,” the young-Witcher grins, holds his own glass vial in the air. “Bottoms up.”

          He and Yoongi cheers, bottles clinking together before they down their respective potions in one-shot. It’s fucking awful, as usual. Killer Whale is thick, and fatty, with a rotten, toxic edge that’s barely masked by the flavor of bitter Winter berry; then, as it goes down, the dwarven spirit snaps like a whip, blasting through the nose and throat, near blinding drinker. Jeongguk coughs at his side, looking thoroughly displeased. Yoongi vibes.

          “Good shit,” he chokes.

          “Should be effective for at least forty-five,” the younger wheezes. “Not sure the pheromones will last, though. They’ll wash away in the water.”

          “Better hop to, then,” Yoongi growls, scratching his face, glad for the first time that the weather is warm because he doesn’t fancy being in mortal peril, submerged, surrounded by drowners, probably not gonna make it out alive, _and_ freezing his ass off in frigid waters.

          Been there, done that. Not his cup of tea.

          They trail towards the watering hole, weapons discarded at a safe distance because they’re no use in under the surface anyway. Yoongi doesn’t fancy having to replace his gun because the mechanisms rusted. Without it, though, he feels exposed in more ways than one, not that a t-shirt and a vest do much to protect him from monsters anyway. Mostly he misses the safety of his weaponry – those are pretty useful, most of the time.

          They reach the hoard and remain, for the most part, undisturbed. Jeongguk pulls his boots from his feet, lobs them a significant distance in the hopes that they’ll still be there when they resurface. Yoongi follows suit, grimacing as a drowner sniffs his neck curiously. He resists the urge to rip its head clean off it’s shoulders. Decides that might give them away.

          They wade into the water, Jeongguk diving first, the elder Witcher looking towards the sky for a moment, wondering what he did to deserve this, before he too, submerges entirely.

Underneath, he can see clearly – another perk of the Killer Whale. It might taste like absolutely trash but it’s capacity to the lengthen the amount of time the Witcher can hold their breath is unparalleled.

          Underneath the surface, drowner traffic is not as bad above. As objectively dim-witted as they appear, the monsters are social creatures: they crave companionship and company. Most of this socialisation takes place outside of the water, though, and it’s also why they can be so dangerous, especially to any Witcher who travels the path alone. Drowners attack in groups: they’ll protect each other as fiercely as any human might their family or friends.

          Jeongguk signals to the elder Witcher and the pair break away from one another. The watering hole is deeper than expected, it’s dark, and the water is warm. The Witcher’s are searching for any crevasses or, better yet, underwater tunnels and caverns: dark, damp places where the drowners may like to nest.

          Breeding, at least amongst this particular species of monster, is uncommon. Usually, the weather, the surrounding waters, are too cold – many of the eggs perish in these conditions, don’t make it to hatchlings. Sucks for the drowners, but it’s convenient for the Witchers. Means that clearing out a drowner population is as simple as one, two, three. Slay the drowners, burn the bodies, and they don’t spread, or reproduce.

          Now, though, here in Dawnside, with the uncommonly hot weather, and the uncommonly hot waters- magic zinging in the air – the conditions are perfect. If the town was well informed, they might have expected this – prepared.

          Yoongi isn’t surprised they didn’t. He’s been here for almost a month and has come to realize quickly that the town is not simply remote, not simply closed-minded – they are nigh-on fucking negligent to the world around them.

          He surveys the watering-hole as best he can. Finds that he has to come up for air approximately every fifteen minutes. He sends a silent kudos to Jeongguk for another immaculate brew, continues, uncomfortably to search for any signs of drowner nests.

          He’s about ready to give up when a firm hand loops around his elbow, has him twisting in the water, ready to strangle whatever it is that’s trying to drown him. Instead, he sees Jeongguk, features tight as he motions for the elder to follow.

          They swim a short distance, far to the side of the watering hole. The younger pulls on Yoongi’s arm, positions his hand in an odd direction. It’s then that he feels it. Odd: a current seems to pull his hand downward.

          He and Jeongguk swim towards the bottom of the hole, hands in front of them, feeling the water ahead for any change. Just as they’re about to press into the sandy depth, a drowner shoots past, startling both the Witchers who square, preparing for attack.

          Instead, the creature floats towards the rocky perimeter, and disappears out of sight.

          The Witchers glance at each other, both excited,  following after the disappeared drowner. When they reach the rock, it’s clear as day. A concrete tunnel, maybe two metres in diameter – certainly large enough for the Witcher to swim through.

          That is, if it were not covered by metal grating.

          The drowners, with their slipper, lithe, amphibian bodies, seem to be able to easily slip through. The Witchers, however – muscled, broad shouldered as they are – have no chance. The gap between the bars is too tiny; even Yoongi, ‘pocket-sized’ as he is (Jeongguk’s words, not his own) would never be able to fit through.

          _Of course_ , the Witcher thinks to himself with a roll of his eyes. Nothing’s every easy.

          He motions to Jeongguk, directing the younger towards the surface – just in time too; he can feel the killer whale ebbing away. Suddenly, holding his breath feels like a chore, the pressure in his lungs tight and uncomfortable as he breaks the surface, a gasp a relieving air filling up his lungs.

          Jeongguk surfaces soon after, breathing heavily. They both push their sloppy hair off of their faces, share a pointed look, wading the water in silence for a moment as their breathing normalises, blinking against the fresh sting of the water.

          “Wha’d’ya think?” Jeongguk coughs.

          “Could be connected to the sewage or water systems. Or  both. We won’t know until we’re in there.”    “Seems like the perfect spot: secluded, deep, dark, inaccessible.”

          “I’d put my money on it,”  Yoongi drawls. “Fucking irritating that we can’t get in there.”

          “We’ll have to speak to the mayor again,” the younger pouts. “He’s probably the only one that can get us access. Unless, you wanna as the witch to portal us inside.”

          “I’d rather drop dead,” Yoongi growls. “I’d honestly rather fucking drown.”

          He regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips. He can practically hear the universe snort, whisper something along the lines of ‘ _that can be arranged’_ in his ear, as he’s pulled underwater, something gripping his ankle with incredible force. Jeongguk’s arms lurch, wrap underneath his own in an attempt to hold Yoongi’s head above water. It doesn’t nothing but get the younger pulled into the depths along with him.

          Things progress very swiftly after that.

          Yoongi can’t see shit, can’t hear shit with hot water invading his ears and nose and eyes. He didn’t even have the chance to take in a breath; his lungs are screaming murderously inside, begging for oxygen. All he can do is thrash, his arms reaching out desperately, trying to find Jeongguk.

          That’s all he can think about. Jeongguk. Jeongguk. Jeongguk. He’s just pale blur in front of him, crowded by drowners who pull at his arms and his legs and his hair. Yoongi’s heart near stops, he reaches his hand forward, casts the sign of Aard, barely managing to knock three drowners free from his son’s shoulder.

          It’s not use. There’s too many of them.

          They’re absolutely swarmed. Yoongi barely registers a sharp bite against his neck because he’s too busy caging Jeongguk against his chest, trying to break free, protect the other with his body, even though he’s smaller and weaker and Jeongguk seems to be doing most of the work anyway.

          But despite everything, despite the way they thrash, despite the fact that they’re able to push back against a wall of slithering, amphibian bodies, there’s just – too many. They’ve resolutely run out of air, now; whatever human parts of them are left go entirely dormant. Only their mutated bodies remain, enhanced stamina and strength and pure adrenaline keeping them alive.

          But even so, it can only last for so long. Yoongi feels Jeongguk’s body still in his arms, almost falling completely slack. The Witcher doesn’t know how to cry, but if he did, he might do that now. Might beg for Jeongguk to wake up like a second rate actor in the shitty b-class action films that his son loves so much.

          Sharknado, and the like. He hated that shit, but he loved the way Jeongguk laughed. He’s not one for sentimentality, but seeing as he’s about to die alongside his greatest treasure, he might as well spare himself a moment of regret at the fact that he’s never told his son that he loves him out-loud, even though he does.

          He grips Jeongguk’s body against his chest, send a silent prayer to the Gods that he doesn’t believe in that the kid knows anyway – that even though his life was short, it was still full. Maybe, Yoongi even added to that fullness – made Jeongguk’s time on this Earth a little richer than it might have otherwise been.

          He can be proud of that. He can die hoping that it might be so.

          That thought, he finds, is quite comforting, so he closes his eyes, pulls Jeongguk’s body as close to his as he possible can, and resigns the pair to their terrible fate.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimin’s body locks up tight against his side, breaking Taehyung free of a day dream. When he turns to his friend, the witch’s face is contorted in pain, ugly and agonizing and foreign against his usually-smooth features. He reaches out, touching cautiously against the other man’s face.

          “Jimin?”

          There’s no response, he just stares towards the wall as if he’s watching the scene of a horror film unfurl in front of his eyes. The witch starts to shake, tears collecting, though they don’t breach his waterline.

          “Jimin, what is it? What’s wrong?”

          “I’m not sure,” he chokes, hand pressing into his chest, right over his heart, as if it pains him. “I can’t see. Something’s wrong.”

          “With you? Are you hurt?”

          The witch shakes his head, stands on shaky legs, arm reaching out to brace himself against Taehyung’s hand. “Take me outside.”

          “What?”

          Jimin sobs. “I can’t see, Taehyung; I need you to take me outside.”

          “What?”

          “TAKE ME OUTSIDE, TAEHYUNG. I NEED TO BE OUTSIDE!”

          The young-man startles, confused, but he lifts off the chair without another word, holding his friend around the waist, directing him towards the ornate, wooded exit. They breach the cabin, hot air swirling around  them, lightening flashing suddenly in the sky as a thunder-head materialises, seemingly out of nowhere.

          Taehyung’s eye widen, Jimin dropping to his knees, the young-man glancing around in a panic because it had been a nice, sunny day, but now the wind is whipping his black hair around his face and the air is crackling, electrified with hot, frantic magic.

          “Jimin,” Taehyung’s voice shakes. “Jimin is this you?”

          He looks down at his friend, hands held up towards the sky, fingers curled at an awkward angle as if the witch is feeling for something he can’t see.

          Suddenly, Jimin’s choking, and not just on air, water is spluttering from between his swollen lips, murky and grey, smelling so strongly of sewage that the sugary sweet smell of the witch’s skin can’t even mask it. Taehyung can’t believe what he’s seeing. Can’t believe what he’s hearing. Has no fucking clue what’s going on or what he’s supposed to do.

          He’s practically ready to believe this is all a horrible nightmare, arms reaching out to touch his friend, just to make sure, when Jimin disappears entirely, blipping out of the meadow like he was never there in the first place.

Taehyung is entirely alone.

          He would panic, but in all honesty, he doesn’t have the time. No less than a second later, the air crackles, the hair on the young-man’s arms standing straight, oxygen seeming to boil around him as a violet portal appears in the sky, three bodies falling to the ground in a gush of murky water.

          “Holy fucking shit,” Taehyung breathes, and then he’s running, right towards the mess of limbs, tangled together in the centre of the meadow, some of them unmoving.

          It’s the Witchers, he realizes with horror, and the body lying still, Yoongi hovering over him frantically, still choking against the water, calling out his name, is Jeongguk. Taehyung freezes, dropping to his knees, unable to move, unable to breathe, just watching the scene in front of him unfold.

          “Jeongguk,” Yoongi calls, slapping a flat palm against the youngers face. “Jeongguk! Please, please. Come on, kid. Come on. I didn’t raise you to fucking die before me you inconceivable, selfish boy!”

          Then, he gets to work without another word: checks Jeongguk’s air way, curls his fists against the youngers chest and begins an aggressive round of CPR. Taehyung glances at Jimin, who watches the scene with equal, if not more, horror than Taehyung himself.

          Yoongi’s pants are soaked through, his chest is clad, making the fact that he’s covered in scratches and bites even more obvious. Jeongguk’s body seems to have fared better – in fact, he looks relatively uninjured, outside of the fact that he doesn’t seem to be breathing, and he’s pale.

          So, so pale.

          Yoongi plugs Jeongguk’s nose with his fingers, doesn’t hesitate to press their mouths together, pushing air into his lungs with a significant exhale. Taehyung can feel his lip trembling because he always knew it was Jeongguk but at the same time it’s also just hitting him now.

          It’s _Jeongguk_. Sweet, careful, gentle Jeongguk. His friend. His good friend who saved his life and treated him kindly and told him never to stop painting because he’s ‘too special’. It’s Jeongguk lying motionless in the meadow, surrounded by blooming flowers, his face almost serene as Yoongi continues to beat against his chest, his arms straight and his shoulders square, though his features are contorted in agony.

          But then –

          Jeongguk lurches to life, Yoongi doesn’t even shift with relief, simply turns the young-Witcher over onto his side so he can cough murky water into the soil. It’s only when the choking passes, Jeongguk taking a shaky, uncertain breath, that the elder breaks down, gathering the young-man in his arms, rocking him, touching his face and his hair and kissing against his brow – pressing their foreheads together with closed eyes. Whispering something quietly that belongs only to them.

          That’s when it clicks for Taehyung; something Jeongguk had told him before, though he hadn’t really believed him, if he’s honest.

          Min Yoongi and Jeon Jeongguk.

          Father and son.

          Taehyung chokes, sagging into the damp soil, completely wiped, utterly relieved and, frankly, still in shock.

          Then, whispering another quiet word to Jeongguk, Yoongi turns his fierce gaze on Jimin.

          “You,” he points across at the witch, arm outstretched,  amber eyes burning in a way that makes Taehyung wonder whether he might be burying Jimin’s lifeless corpse beneath his rose-bush before the end of day. “You,” the Witcher says again, softer, this time, allowing Jeongguk to rest against the ground. It’s halfway between a walk and a crawl, the way Yoongi stumbles toward Jimin. “You,” he repeats, reaching the other, whispering so low that Taehyung can barely hear, placing a hand so gently against the witch’s face that Taehyung feels his own heart lurch. Then, he cries gently: “you saved my son.”

          Jimin is crushed against Yoongi’s chest. Taehyung expects the witch to look surprised – but he doesn’t, he simply buries his face in the crook of the Witcher’s neck as if it’s a place he knows well, wraps his own arms around the other’s middle, pulls their bodies impossibly close.

          They just hold each-other, both shaking, Jimin audibly sobbing while Yoongi coos quietly in his ear, says things that makes Taehyung think he should turn away – but he can’t. He’s too shocked. Even more so when the Witcher starts to kiss across Jimin’s cheekbone, his closed lids, the corner of his lips, until their mouths are pressed together, slotting purposefully and easily like this’s happened thousands of times before.

          Taehyung blushes, glances towards Jeongguk who watches the pair like he’s finally pressed the last, satisfying piece into a puzzle he’s been working on for years. The young-Witcher’s expression is gentle, and affectionate, color returning to his cheeks as he gazes happily at the pair: witch and Witcher, gathered together in a passionate embrace.

          Taehyung spares them another long look, feels something curl inside him as Jimin’s lips part against the kiss; he’s still crying, gently, though he’s also smiling, and there’s that feeling of unsaid things finally finding some kind of resolution, even though its, maybe, only temporary.

          Yoongi leans into the other, Taehyung feels that pull against his heart. His eyes, somehow of their own accord, gravitate towards Jeongguk and something inside tells him that he needs to have his hands on the other desperately, right now, if only to make sure that he really is alive and breathing.

          He pulls himself across the dirt. Jeongguk doesn’t even notice until the young-man is practically climbing into his lap, fingers pushing the brunet’s clumpy, mussed hair out of his eyes.

          When Jeongguk looks at him, all fluid amber and gentle and doe-like, Taehyung feels a fresh wave of tears threaten to break free.

          “You asshole,” he chokes, resting a hand against Jeongguk’s cheek. “You said you were good at this.”

          The other smiles weakly. “I never said that – you assumed.”

          “Because it all seemed to go so well with the ghouls…” Taehyung surveys Jeongguk, presses a free palm against one of the few shallow cuts across the other’s chest. “Does this hurt?” He whispers.

          “Not anymore,” the Witcher breathes, relieved, presses his waterlogged palm over Taehyung’s own.

          He sags, forehead falling against Jeongguk’s firm shoulder.

          He feels something uncomfortable tick in the back of his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

Yoongi watches with an irritated expression as Jeongguk beams towards him; no one should look that happy when they have a curved needle plunged inside another person’s chest. In fact, no one should be that happy ever. Period.

          Except, in an inconvenient moment of self-awareness, Yoongi realizes he feels it himself. Can’t help the way that his shoulders sag, satisfied, the tension of the past month almost entirely forgotten.

          “So,” the younger grins, pulling a clunky suture taught. “‘ _Stay away from the witch, Jeongguk, he’s a manipulative sack-of-shit. I don’t want him even breathing in your direction!’”_

Yoongi faces his mimicry with a bored expression. “I stand by what I said.”

          “Oh, yeah?” Jeongguk laughs. “Didn’t seem that way, earlier.”

          “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

          “Well, y’know,” he shrugs, turning his amber eyes upwards. “by the way you had your tongue down his th –”

          “Your Golden Retriever seemed to have a big smile for you.”

          Jeongguk rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, attention turning back to the angry gashes on Yoongi’s chest. “He’s just glad I’m alive. Your friends usually are,  y’know,  when you’re no longer in mortal peril.”

          It’s Yoongi’s turn to regard the other with amusement. The kid’s getting better at hiding his blush, but he hasn’t managed to quite conquer the ears, yet; they’re bright red, standing out like a sore thumb against his otherwise seemingly unbothered expression.

          “If that’s what you wanna believe,” the elder drawls, shifting into a more comfortable position while Jeongguk applies antiseptic cream, bandages over the top of his more-angry wounds.

          “I believe it because it’s the truth, hyung.” Jeongguk sighs, patting Yoongi’s shoulder with a quiet sort of resignation. He exhales slowly, surveys the other’s wounds one more time. “This is all done,” he bites his lip, “and I’m sorry.”     

          Yoongi frowns. “Why’re you sorry?”

          “It’s my fault you got all fucked up like this. I’m a shitty Witcher. I’m – too weak. I keep fucking everything up.”

          “First of all,” the elder starts. “That’s horse-shit. If memory serves, it was the _me_ the drowners grabbed, not you – you were trying to help me.”

          “I was dead weight, hyung.”

          “So you can’t hold your breath as long as me – that’s not exactly the be-all and end-all of good Witchering, Jeongguk.”

          “It wasn’t a week ago that I fucked up my arm because I –”

          “’ _Wasn’t watching my flank’,_ yeah, that’s also horse-shit. I trained you, remember? You don’t just ‘forget’ to watch your flank, kid. It’s ingrained. You were tyring to _protect_ me – that’s why you got sliced.”

          Jeongguk huffs. “I should be able to protect you without almost losing my arm, hyung.”

          “You didn’t almost ‘lose your arm’. Now you’re just being over-dramatic.”

          They enter into a stand-off, Jeongguk pouting with irritated eyes, Yoongi watching him with masked affection, still over-joyed that his kid is breathing, in front of him.

          To say the elder’s never been so scared in his life would be an understatement. He and Jeongguk have had many close-calls through their time on The Path, but never in his life has his son’s cold, lifeless body lay underneath him, waterlogged and motionless.

          He could’ve been asleep; Yoongi could’ve allowed himself to believe as much. The Witcher in him had said ‘CPR’ but something a little more human had told him to clutch Jeongguk’s body against his chest and pray and cry and beg for help. He almost had.

          Emotions are dangerous.

          “I’m glad you’re alive,” Yoongi breathes, brushes his fingers through Jeongguk’s clean, soft hair. “If you ever do that again, I’m gonna kill you myself, love.”

          The younger’s face contorts oddly. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

          “You haven’t almost died in a while.”

          “I won’t do it again.”

          “Better not, unless you’re looking to have your old man’s heart give right out.”

          Jeongguk grins, his sweet-as-honey smile on display. “You’re hardly old.”

          “The amount of candles on my last birthday cake would tell you differently.” His rough fingers graze across the kid’s  cheek, catching against a tiny, barely-there scar. “I remember the day you got this,” Yoongi muses.

          “I should hope so,” Jeongguk laughs. “You gave it too me.”

          “I warned you, you weren’t ready to fight me. But you were all pouty and I could never so no. So eager.”

          Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve taken it a little easy.”

          “Not my style.” The silver-haired Witcher lays a palm flat against the other’s cheek and feels his heart swell uncomfortably inside his own chest. “I know I don’t say it often. Probably don’t show it either, but you know that I… you know that I really… Since the first time I laid eyes on you all those years ago… I just –”

          “It’s alright. I know. Don’t give yourself aneurysm, now.”

          “Good, good,” Yoongi nods resolutely. “Just, making sure.”

          “I love you too, dad.”

          The elder chokes.

          Jeongguk just laughs. “I almost died today. Come on,” he stands. “Buy me a drink.”

 

 

* * *

 

Taehyung gazes at his unfinished piece, one foot perched on the stool underneath him, the other swinging free in the air. He’s got oil color drying tacky along his fingers and forearms – probably in his hair too, though he can’t tell right this minute. There’s something terrifying taking shape on the canvas in front of him, though, can something you already expected ever really scare you?  

          His phone rings, buzzing loudly against his messy wooden work-desk. He starts, shocking out of whatever meditative state he’d drifted into. He falls off his stool, feet tangling awkwardly as he stumbles, grasping his phone in his hands so he can read the caller ID and blow a stream of – exhilarated? Confused? Cautious? – air out of his mouth.

          He answers, presses the phone against his ear. “Jeongguk?”

          There’s giggling on the other end of the line, loud music thumping somewhere in the distance, mostly static to Taehyung’s ears.

          “Jeongguk?”

          There’s a loud thud, a frantic, stage-whispered conversation that the artist can’t quite make out; something that sounds like a slap echoes through the receiver, a syrupy voice whines _‘ow, Jeongguk!’_  and it sounds oddly like Taehyung’s cousin, Seokjin.

          The young-man pulls his phone from his ear, checks the caller ID one more time, just to be sure. Definitely Jeongguk.

          “Jeongguk? Are you there?” More whispering, frantic rustling. Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna hang up,” he warns.

          _“No!”_ Jeongguk’s voice is the most prominent though it sounds like three people call out at the same time. _“No, uh, I mean –_ _what? No, fuck off!”_

“I’m sorry?!” Taehyung stands a little straighter, brow furrowing.

          _“No! Not, not you – I mean, not – I mean, hey, uh, what’s goin’ on, Taeee?”_

“Is that you, Gukkie?”

          A giggle. _“Sure is, TaeTae. The one, the only!”_ There’s more laughing across the line, another loud slap, and the sound of a glass shattering. A gruff voice swears loudly, and screeching laughter that Taehyung recognizes well filters through the receiver, distorting some.

          “Jeongguk are you with someone?”

          _“What?! Nooooo –”_  But a chorus of ‘shhhhhhh’ sounds can be easily heard, and someone who _isn’t_ Jeongguk guffaws in the background, muttering to themselves, something about this being _‘a bad idea’._

“Hey, Guk, I’m not really sure what’s going on but I think I should probably g –”

          _“Nooo, don’t go Taeby. Don’t leave!”_

Taehyung frowns. “Taeby?”

          _“Yes,”_ Jeongguk slurs, although his tone is resolute. _“This is a name I have come up with,”_ a hiccup, _“for you, because, you are Taehyung, but you are also a baby. Thus – Taeby.”_

“That’s, very creative?” The artist paces across the plush carpet of his studio, crosses his free arm around his middle for a moment before he decides to run his hand through his hair instead. “Gukkie, are you okay? You sound kind of… weird?”

          _“Okay?”_  The Witcher slurs. _“I feel_ fantastic _, Taeby. Did you know, that –”_  Jeongguk swallows loudly, clearing his throat. _“I have called you, because – because I’m mad at you!”_

“Mad at me?”

          _“Affirmative!”_

“Affirmative?” Taehyung frowns, scuffs his foot against the carpet. “Jeongguk are you – have you been drinking?”        

          _“Affirmative.”_

Well, that explains things. “How many have you had?”

          _“Approximately twelve.”_

“Twelve?!” Taehyung stands up straighter, worrying his bottom lip. “Jeongguk you – what the fuck is wrong with you? You almost fucking died today and now you’re trying to drink yourself into an early grave? Seriously, kid!”

          _“Don’ call me a kid,”_ Jeongguk slurs, upset. _“’M not a kid.”_

Taehyung scratches his brow. “Okay,” he says.

          _“’M not!”_

“Okay!” Taehyung sighs towards the ceiling. “You’re not a kid, Jeongguk. Okay.”

          There’s quiet on the other end of the line, even the thumping bass receding somewhere towards silence. Something inside Taehyung’s stomach curls, ugly, and he feels a panicky need to hang-up immediately, lob his phone as far away as possible, somewhere into the fields maybe, where the ghouls could gobble it up whole.

          _“You don’ think ‘m a kid, right, Tae?”_

The artist runs a hand through to the back of his dark hair. “No, Jeongguk. I don’t think you’re a kid.”

          _“Wanna look aft’r you – like, a man.”_

Taehyung feels unsteady. He supresses a wail. Isn’t sure if he should feel like crying, but he does, anyway. “Jeongguk, I really don’t think you should be saying this,” he breathes, tries to level his voice. “You’re – gonna be upset in the morning. Just, stop now, okay?”

          _“Don’ wanna,”_ the other whines, and Taehyung can practically _see_ his pout. _“Y’ur all I think about.”_

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung warns.

          _“Mad at you ‘cause, ‘s not fair.”_

The artist bites into his bottom lip, closes his eyes because he should just end this here, but he doesn’t. “What’s not fair, Guk?”

_“Tha’there’s people like you. ‘Nd then there’s people like me.”_

“What do you mean?”

_“Y’ur like – shining. ‘Nd beautiful, ‘nd soft, ‘nd good.”_

“That’s not true.”

 _“It is!”_ The other cries, voice filled with conviction. _“Y’ur like – blinding. ‘S hard to look at you s’m’times.”_

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung breathes. “You need to hang up now.”

_“Can’t hear y’ur voice if I do that.”_

The artist feels the skin of his bottom lip start to give way, though he doesn’t stop gnawing, stares across at his painting darkly with an unfamiliar pain waxing inside heart the more Jeongguk babbles across the line. Says all the things that should make him glow, make him blush, have Taehyung flirting back, easy.

If this were college, or maybe, in a perfect world, a very sober Taehyung would offer a very drunk Jeongguk a ride home. He’d accept, and Taehyung would pick him up, bring the other back to his own place because he can’t get his dorm-number out in full and the artist has no clue where he lives. He’d take Jeongguk upstairs to his room, pat his back over the toilet as he threw up; he’d put him in a warm bath – wash his hair, rub his shoulders gently, brush the younger’s teeth with his own tooth-brush because he doesn’t own a spare.

Jeongguk would just smile at him drunkenly, eyes soft and affectionate, the whole way through. He wouldn’t proposition him – that’s not his style – instead, he’d just let Taehyung take care of him; let the artist dress him in a pair of soft pyjamas, tuck him in cosy, pull him against his chest, laughing gently at his drunken babbling until they both fell asleep.

In the morning, Taehyung would cook pancakes, serve them to a severely hungover Jeongguk in a swimming pool of maple syrup. Then, as the other was putting on a show, pretending Taehyung’s cooking was anything short of awful, Taehyung would confess.

Quietly at first, and then with conviction. He’d look Jeongguk in the eye and repeat all those lovely words right back at him. Make him feel worthy, delight in the way his cheeks lit up, ears burning, pink-pouty-lips popping open as if he never even saw this coming.

Eventually, confessions aside, they’d kiss, sweet as the syrup still tacky against Jeongguk’s mouth. It would be slow, and indulgent, and have Taehyung giggling with his blankets thrown over his head, kicking against the mattress in glee, later on in the day. He’d call his best friend who’d come racing over; they’d bounce up and down, screaming, hands thrown around each other in elation.

It would be easy. It would be beautiful.

But, this isn’t college, and it isn’t a perfect world. This is a town inundated by monsters, where rot permeates the air, hidden only by a sickly-sweet illusion. It might be beautiful on the outside – might seem idyllic – the perfect place to fall in love, and settle down. But it’s all a lie.

And Taehyung belongs here.

_“Are you there? TaeTae? Taeby?”_

The artist swallows against the lump in his throat. “I have to go, Jeongguk.”

_“Taehyungie wai –”_

“I have to go.”

He hangs up, eyes burning, still glued to the unfinished painting in the corner of the room. He feels mildly disgusted but also cautiously impressed at the way he was able to so accurately capture the silver color of his hair, the deep amber of his eyes as the Witcher gazes across, softly, at someone who isn’t Taehyung.

* * *

 

 

“I’m having a really, truly, terrible day,” Jeongguk growls, hand curling in against the mayor’s shirt-front. “On a scale of one to  ten, I’m in active free-fall. I’m hungover, and angry, and I don’t even like you on a good day.” He pulls until the pair are practically nose to nose. “Don’t fuck with us, today. Give us what we asked for.”

          “Out of the question.”

          Yoongi watches with disinterest, wonders briefly whether Jeongguk might just break the other’s nose; he isn’t surprised when Jeongguk drops him instead – maybe a little disappointed.

          “Look,” Yoongi levels, slouching deeper into his seat. “You paid us to deal with the drowners. We’re dealing with the drowners. The drowners are in the sewers. We need access to the sewers. It’s as simple as that. Give us the access, and we’ll be on our way.”

          “Out, of the question.”

          “Why?” Jeongguk calls, exasperated. “What does it fucking matter?”  

          “Can’t have you destroying the local infrastructure.”

          Yoongi scoffs. “The local infrastructure is already fucked. It’s a breeding ground, for the _drowners_. Remember those?”

          “Out of the question. Find another way.”

          “There is no other way,” Jeongguk cries. “Do you think I would actively suggest that we crawl through piss and shit, for the sake of your stupid town, if there was another way?”

          “You won’t be granted access to the sewers,” the mayor drawls. “Find another way, or return the retainer. With interest.”

          Yoongi rolls his eyes, watching Jeongguk open his mouth to argue with furious resolve. He silences him with an outstretched arm. “Come on, kid. Not worth it.”

          Five minutes later they stand in the centre of town, sun beating down on both their shoulders, Jeongguk furiously running his hands through his hair as he stares towards the ground, expression contorted ugly and pained.

          Yoongi doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask him what’s up. Just lets the kid have a moment – knows that there’s probably nothing he can do, anyway.

          “I don’t wanna be here anymore, hyung,” Jeongguk says eventually, looking towards the elder with red rimmed eyes. “Let’s just return the money and go. If I stay here another day, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind. I really can’t. I really just fucking cannot.”

          “I feel for you, Guk, but we can’t afford to leave.”

          “Why,” the other laughs, coldly. “Because you wanna take the cash and fuck off? Retire to some fucking cabin in the woods?”

          Yoongi resists the urge to quip back. “No,” he says carefully. “Because we literally cannot afford it. Witchering pays well but it’s also expensive. You know this. Equipment, stocks – we’re always living on the edge of poverty. We drop a big job like this and word gets out? We’d never recover.”

          “ _I’d_ never recover, you mean.”

          “Come on, Jeongguk. I know you’re having a rough day, but don’t be like that. We’re a team.”

          “So you’re not ditching The Path after this job?”

          Yoongi exhales. “Not that it’s any of your business, but, yes, I’m planning to retire.” Jeongguk’s face droops further, but the elder continues anyway. “Not unless I know you’re good, though, kid. That money was never for me. You think I’d just fuck off and leave you desolate? I’m trying to keep you safe, Jeongguk. I’m not abandoning you.”

          The younger watches him, swallows a number of times before the defensive squaring of his shoulders sags with defeat. He looks completely wiped, not just physically, not just because he’s hungover – but on a deeper level. Yoongi hasn’t seen him like this in years.

          “What are we gonna do then?” He asks. “The drowners are in the sewers. That’s that. If we can’t get into the sewers, then we can’t destroy the drowners.”  

          “I have an idea,” Yoongi says, scratching against his brow.

          “Oh yeah, what might that be?”

          He exhales. “We ask Jimin to portal us in.”

          “You can’t be serious.”

          “Unfortunately, I am. Jimin and I have… a complicated history, but he’s proven himself, as far as I’m concerned. He saved your life, Jeongguk. You don’t know him – he wouldn’t just, go out of his way like that unless he really felt –” Yoongi’s sentences breaks off; he comes to a stark realisation that hits him with as much force as a cracking whip.

          “What is it?” Jeongguk asks.

          “Nothing,” the other breathes. “Nothing just… realized something I’ve been trying to figure out for a while.”

          Jeongguk raises his brows but doesn’t press further. “If you’re certain,” he says, “then I trust your judgement. It’s not like _I_ have an issue with witches. Or portals, for that matter.”

          “Wait ‘til you get stuck in one,” Yoongi laughs.

          They make the trek on foot, largely because Yoongi asked Jeongguk to get in touch with Taehyung – and through Taehyung, Jimin – but the kid almost threw up, right there on the spot, so, they resolutely power through the forest, moving quickly, the terrain common to them now, weeks into the contract.

          Jeongguk doesn’t stop to pick up flowers or herbs, as he usually might. He also doesn’t talk, or crack jokes. Yoongi’s worried. _He_ might not be the sharing type, but his ward definitely is, was always so quick to tell the elder which kids were bullying him and why. Never kept any secrets. Even those Yoongi could’ve gone without, like when he lost his virginity, or how last nights beefy-stew hadn’t agreed with him.

          He’s tempted to ask the kid what’s up, but by the time he opens his mouth in question they’re already breaking into the meadow. Then, Yoongi gets distracted by the way that his pulse roars to life in his ears, palms a little sweaty in realizing the plume of smoke that rises from the chimney, alerting the pair to Jimin’s presence inside the cottage.

          This time, Yoongi doesn’t break down the door. This time, like a gentleman, Yoongi knocks softly, carding a hand through his mussed, silver hair, ignoring the way that Jeongguk snorts at his side, though he says nothing.

          It doesn’t take long. The door opens and Jimin’s form overwhelms him: his smiling face, his little crescent eyes, full lips pulled over a blinding grin that makes Yoongi feel warm right down to his toes. It’s irritating, if he’s honest. He’s not twenty-five anymore. He’s not drunk. He doesn’t write poetry anymore which he puts to music in Jimin’s name.

          Physically, he hasn’t aged a day, and neither have his emotions, apparently.

          So stupid.

          “Yoongi,” Jimin laughs, wraps a hand around his wrist and pulls the Witcher inside. “Come, Jeongguk! So glad to see you both. Although you look awful,” he eyes the younger. “One too many drinks last night, maybe?”

          Jeongguk just grunts, steps past Yoongi and Jimin with a pained expression that probably admits more than he might hope.

          “Jeongguk,” someone else says quietly.

          “Tae.” The kid stares at him for a moment, hands balling into fists.

          Yoongi turns to Taehyung, eyes slitted, takes him in curiously because it’s becoming very obvious what’s wrong with Jeongguk, and Yoongi doesn’t appreciate anyone messing with his son.

          “I—” Taehyung starts.

          “Don’t really care,” Yoongi admits. “Not here for you.”

          “For me?”

          He turns to the witch, finds him smiling still, and spares the other a coy grin in return. “I need your help with something,” he explains, resists the urge to touch Jimin’s arm, or shoulder, or, gods forbid, his face. “The drowners are nesting in the sewers. We need to get in there, but when we spoke to the mayor this morning he was –”

          “Lemme guess… resistant?”

          “That’s putting it lightly,” Yoongi nods. “Told us to figure out another way, or hand in the retainer and get lost.”

          “Figures,” the witch rolls his eyes. “He’s such a cunt.”

          Yoongi laughs, he can’t help it. “There’s no other way, and we can’t leave things as they are. Could probably figure something out, but Jeongguk’s about ready to flee the town on his own, and I’d rather not stay here for a minute longer than we have to.”

          “You want me to portal you in,” Jimin comments.

          “If you can,” Yoongi breathes. “If you would, you’d be doing us an incredible service.”

          Jimin seems to ponder this for a moment, crosses his arms over his chest as he regards Yoongi with an amused expression. He taps his foot against the ground, once, twice, three times, before shrugging, huffing nonchalantly into the air. “I’ll do it,” Jimin says.

          “What do you want to know, this time?”

          “Oh I’m not gonna charge you, silly. Think of it as, a gift, just for my most loyal customers.” Jimin winks, and Yoongi feels stupidly weak at the knees. “I just want one, little, teeny-tiny, lady-bird sized favour, in return.”

          Yoongi laughs. “Oh yeah, and what might that be?”

          “I wanna come with you.”

          “Really?” The Witcher asks. “We’re going into a sewer. You hate being filthy. Why in Gods’ name would you wanna come?”

          “I’m the filthiest you’ve ever met.”

          Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, Jimin. So why?”

          Jimin shrugs. “Bored as hell.”

          “Are you sure, Jimin?” Taehyung asks. “I mean it sounds kinda dangerous.”

          “It’ll be fine!”

          “Well,” the dark-haired boy squares his shoulders. “Then I wanna come as well. I don’t want you to go without me.”

          Jimin smiles affectionately but Yoongi jerks his head. “Absolutely fucking not, kid. Too dangerous.”

          “But Jimin’s going!”

          “Yeah, and Jimin’s about as defenceless as a Viper. Can’t say the same for you.”

          “But –”

          “No, fuck that,” Yoongi repeats. “You’re not coming. Absolutely not. You’re clumsy and loud and distracting. Jeongguk’ll get himself killed looking out for your feeble ass.”

          “Well, I want you to look out for me, anyway.”

          “I’ll be outside,” Jeongguk says.

          Yoongi scrunches up his face, watches his ward stalk away. “No,” he laughs. “Why would I bother? Sounds like a fucking waste of time and I have shit to do.” He turns to face the kid, front on. “Y’know we’re actually here to work, right? We hunt monsters to _live,_ not to satisfy some stupid craving for cheap thrills because we’re so bored with our pathetic, small town existence that we don’t give a shit about anything, anymore.”

          “That’s not –”

          “Yeah it is,” Yoongi interrupts him, again. “I’ve met tons of kids like you, Taehyung. Why don’t you turn to booze and opiates instead, and leave the monster hunting to the adults, hm?” He turns back to Jimin, who gives him a chastising look, though he says nothing in rebuttal. “When can we do this?”

          “I’m free now. Are you both prepared?”

          “Always,” Yoongi grins. “Though I can’t say I’m super keen on the portals.” The Witcher spares Taehyung a terse glance when the kid starts to whine. “Follow us, I fucking dare you. Let’s go, Jimin”  

          With the portal crackling in front of them, Jeongguk looking as unbothered as the witch, Yoongi wipes sweat from his brow, foot poised over the threshold.

The witch scratches his brow.  “Should probably warn you. The mayor had me ward the sewers, so the portal might be a little unstable.”

          “Wait, what.”

          Jimin pushes Yoongi, he tumbles forward into the crackling gate. “Like a band-aid!” He laughs, barely audible past the roaring in his ears.

 

          (Yoongi had dared him to follow, so no-one should be particularly surprised when, in the last fraction of a second, before the portal closes shut, Taehyung steps inside.)

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck?” Yoongi pushes Taehyung’s body off of him, stands upright, disgusted. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

          Taehyung’s brain is too muddled to answer. His stomach flips, topsy-turvy, and in the next moment, he’s vomiting onto the already filthy ground.

          “Fucks sake,” Yoongi regards him, irritated, doesn’t offer to pat his back, or coo at him gently to _‘get it all out’._

          Taehyung liked to be treated roughly, but now? Now he’s embarrassed, and he’s scared, and he’s confused, wants that gentle touch, not the harsh, disgusted gaze that meets him when he’s done chucking up and he’s able to push himself onto his feet.

          “What happened?” He asks quietly.

          “The fucking portals fucked up. We’ve been separated. Fuck!” The Witcher pulls his phone from his pocket and bashes at the screen. “No fucking service down here, of course.”

          “What do we do?”      

          “What do _we_ do?” Yoongi laughs. “What the fuck are you even _doing_ here? I told you not to follow. Do you know what you’ve done?” Taehyung wants to shy away from the Witcher’s sharp gaze, but there’s nowhere to hide. “Do you know what could be down here?” Yoongi waits a moment, but Taehyung still can’t answer. “You don’t, do you? Because you’re a fucking imbecile, of course. You’ve put yourself in danger, and you’ve put me in danger. I’m gonna have to protect you, now; if your stupid ass gets dead, Jeongguk’ll never forgive me, and I don’t fancy seeing him pout for the next twenty years.” 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung mumbles.

          “Do you even care, Taehyung, about anyone but yourself? What the fuck did you think you were gonna do down here?”

          Taehyung looks around. It’s almost pitch-black, but he can hear flowing water, can smell rotted green and shit, all heady around him. It’s a disgusting place, no doubt, but something hangs heavy in the air. Something unnatural and foreign to him. A feeling of danger that he can’t quite place.

          “I was just cur—”

          “You were just being a piece of shit. As far as I’m concerned, just like everyone else in this gods forsaken town, you’re an annoyance. Especially when you get in the way of my job, and you fuck around with my son.”

          “I’m not – with Jeongguk – I would ne—”

          “Shut up.”

          Yoongi silences Taehyung with a flat palm held in the air. His head cocks to the side, expression straining against something that Taehyung cannot sense.

          The Witcher draws his sword.

          “What is it?” Taehyung whispers.

           “What do you think it is?” He drawls. “There’s monsters down here, of  course. Drowners probably. I think I can hear Jeongguk, as well, but,” his head quirks, “it’s not clear.”

          “That’s amazing,” Taehyung says with awe. “I can’t hear a thing.”

          “Of course you can’t. You’re fucking mortal – you can’t do anything.”

          _You’re blinding – it’s hard to look at you sometimes._

“Just stay the fuck out of my way, yeah?”

          _Stay close to me._

_I’m gonna take care of this, but I need you to trust me, okay?_

_Don’t be afraid, I’m going to protect you._

          Right now, Taehyung craves those gentle assurances more than anything as he follows the silver-haired Witcher into the bowls of the sewage system. It’s dark; it smells like death – Taehyung can barely see, stumbling over his feet more times than he cares to admit: it isn’t as if Yoongi slows his pace, trudging forward without so much as glance backward.

          Wherever Yoongi is leading them, Taehyung starts to hear… things. It’s not just the incessant drip-drop of water, or the sound of sludge against their shoes. There’s noises now, unnatural, completely foreign to Taehyung’s ear. He tries to liken them to anything he knows: hogs, maybe – feral dogs? Nothing is quite right.

          He can’t admit it out-loud, but it terrifies him. Heart hammering, palms sweating, blood rocketing through his veins, horrified. No matter how he tries to strain his eyes against the darkness, it never lets up. His whole body is on high alert, so much so that when the Witcher in front cracks his boot against the ground, Taehyung jumps near ten-feet in the air.

          “Fucking, calm down. You’re gonna draw it right to us.”

          “But it sound like it’s getting closer?”

          “That’s because it is,” Yoongi comments, turning around to eye Taehyung incredulously.

          “Why?”

          The Witcher rolls his eyes. “I told you I had a job to do. That involves taking down the monsters. You think, just because you’re here, I should, I dunno, call it a day, and head home? I’m not sure if you noticed, but you’re not exactly my top priority, kid.”

          “B-but what about Jeongguk?”

          “Can pretty much assure you he’s doing the same thing. Probably with far more effect, because he doesn’t have to worry about _you.”_

          They continue towards whatever it is – whatever it is that’s making those _noises_ that have the hairs on the back of Taehyung’s neck standing on end. When Yoongi’s gate slows, he almost runs into the other, feels this almost irresistible urge to wrap his hand around the Witcher’s arm. Any kind of warmth and comfort, in this terrifying place.

          Even with Yoongi in front of him, Taehyung feels scared for his life. It isn’t like when he’s around Jeongguk; the other Witcher just has this way of inciting calm. Maybe it’s because the silver-haired monster hunter’s made it explicitly clear that he doesn’t give a shit about Taehyung’s life. The young-man is reasonably sure that he won’t let him _die,_ per se, but he doesn’t know how far that goes.

          Will he let something hurt him?

          Taehyung isn’t sure.

          “Don’t make a sound,” Yoongi warns. “I’m about seventy-five percent certain there’s a bilge-hag around the corner.” The Witcher looks him up and down. “She’ll come for you first. They love to eat pretty things like you.”

          “You’re joking, right?” Taehyung almost laughs.

          “Not in the slightest. Usually they go for Jeongguk, but, you’ll have to do.”

          “What does that mean?”

          “Well you came down here, you might as well make yourself useful. Go out there and distract her.”

          “You’re – you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

          Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Earn your keep, kid. She’s gonna be so mesmerized by the sight of you that she won’t even notice I’m in the room. If we deal with her quickly, she won’t make a fuss and attract the drowners.” He pauses. “You don’t wanna get swarmed by drowners, do you?”

          “N-No.”

          Taehyung’s knees knock together, but he allows Yoongi to push him across the threshold until he’s standing in what looks more like a chamber than a corridor. The smell is, inconceivably awful – ten times more intense than what they’ve dealt with thus far.

          He can feel the sludge give way beneath his feet, is almost glad that he can’t see what it’s made out of because it would probably having him retching on his knees.  

          He can’t see much, but in the corner of his eye, something moves. Something misshapen and hulking, and the closer it gets the more intensely it smells of rotting corpses.

His eyes strain, make out a sight that floors him because this creature has a face not dissimilar to his grandmother, though it’s rotted and bulging, eyes watery and red, mouth gaping. It comes closer, and Taehyungs finds himself frozen with fear, unable to move back even when it brings it’s nose right up to his own and takes in a deep, long, breath.

          “Pretty, pretty, prince,” the creature sing-songs in a voice that is also not dissimilar to his grandmother’s. “Pretty, pretty, prince so far from his throne.”

          A taloned hand imposes against the soft skin of Taehyung’s face, has his whole body shaking with fear as long black nails drag across his cheek-bone. It’s a caress, almost, done gently because he’s sure this monster could slice him top to tail if it so desired.

It’s enamoured with him, though; it’s obvious in the way that its eyes glaze over, grazing across his form and features with a dazed expression that has Taehyung feeling sick, deep inside the core of himself. He’s been looked at like this before. Older men, uncles, even – dirty, slimy expressions of lust, from dirty, slimy creatures who want something that they can’t have.

          He’s ready to lose it, but he focuses on something he knows well – a doe like, amber-gaze that never fails to make his bones feel malleable. It’s a last moniker of comfort as the hag licks it’s lips with a slimy tongue the length and girth of Taehyung’s arm.

          And maybe it would’ve been fine; he can see the flash of Yoongi’s blade in his periphery, but before the Witcher has the chance to strike he steps against some broken, dried bone – a crack, that has the hag flinching, eyes flashing from Taehyung’s own.

          Then, it’s the second time he sees a Witcher fight. Yoongi lights up the space with a flurry of fire, Igni cast effortlessly from his palm. Taehyung can feel the heat of it, but he still can’t move, even when Yoongi knocks him back with a flat palm, out of the way.

          He can tell this is the man that taught Jeongguk to fight – their styles are similar, though the elder seems to rely on speed more than strength, like his ward. It’s less like a dance, this time, and more like a presentation. Yoongi is clinical, and direct: educational, in a way that Jeongguk is not.

None-the-less, it’s beautiful to watch, if not utterly, utterly terrifying.

          The hag is lumpy and slow, though it slashes at Yoongi with long, spindly arms – almost seems to be in reach a number of times, though the Master Witcher dodges expertly out of the way. Yoongi fights in silence while the hag shouts and snuffles, snorts and wails.

          Her skin is visibly burnt, Taehyung can smell it, as well, though it doesn’t seem to deter her. She lifts sludge from the ground, vaults the ball of filth at the Witcher’s face, perhaps in the hopes that she might blind him.

          Yoongi evades those too, though his brow does furrow, annoyed. He set the hag on fire again and she shrieks so sharp that Taehyung has to cover his ears. This – the sound – seems to hurt Yoongi as well, who falters slightly, aggressive stance falling defensive as he tries to right himself from the shock.

          It’s hard to see everything, but Taehyung’s eyes are so wide with fear that it’s almost impossible to miss, when the Witcher pirouettes just right, slicing one of the hag’s spindly arms clean off. It screams wildly, remaining limbs flailing before it drops to the floor, crawling.

          Crawling towards Taehyung.

          “Pretty, pretty prince,” it cries, voice full of pain, gunky eyes watering. “The pretty, pretty prince will show the maiden mercy?”   

          A hand wraps around Taehyung’s outstretched leg, begins to pull him forward as he scrambles back, wildly, gunk filling his fingers, invading his skin and his nails. He tries to scream, call out for help. He can’t make a sound.

          “Pretty, pretty prince,” it sings, again, head tilting, pathetic. “Pretty, pretty prince will save the maiden as he always does?”

          It’s bubbling in the back of his throat, that fresh terror.

          But then: “Not likely.”

          Yoongi spears the hag with his glowing silver-sword, piercing right through the centre of it’s skull. It sags, collapsing, dead, into Taehyung’s lap.  He takes a rag from his belt, cleans his blade as Taehyung had seen Jeongguk do, before him. “Are you okay?” He asks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get that close.” He reaches out a hand, Taehyung takes it, allows himself to be pulled free from the ground.

          He doesn’t even think about it. The artist launches himself at Yoongi, wraps his arms around the Witcher’s neck, and pulls himself tight against him. In the next moment, he’s sobbing into the older-man’s shoulder, not a care in the world that Yoongi might throw him off.

          It doesn’t feel quite right, but it’s enough.

          “Hey,” the Witcher says. “It’s okay. You’re alright, aren’t you? It didn’t hurt you?”

          “N-n-no,” Taehyung sobs. “N-n-no.”

          “Okay, then,” Yoongi pulls him back, regards the artist carefully with a gentleness in his eyes that Taehyung’s never seen before. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I know I’m an ass but I’d never let anything hurt you.” He wipes at the tears along Taehyung’s cheek. “Please don’t cry.”

          And Taehyung thinks he understands, leans forward, presses his lips against the Witcher’s.

          There’s a moment of stillness, before he’s vaulted backward into the sludge.

          Yoongi regards him with steady eyes, though the tenderness is gone. It’s a long and awkward moment that has Taehyung cursing himself quietly.

He didn’t even like it. Not the Witcher, that much is obvious, but _Taehyung_.

Taehyung didn’t even like it.

 “I’m gonna forgive that, because I think you’re in shock,” Yoongi says, voice level. “But if it happens again, you’re gonna end up like your fair maiden over there, got it?”

“Got it,” Taehyung nods, quickly, avoids eye-contact at all costs.

“Great,” Yoongi drawls, holding his hand out for a second time. “Come on,” he says. “I can definitely hear Jeongguk. Heard the fight. He’s coming this way.”

The artist is pulled to his feet, when he hears it too.

“Hyung!”

Taehyung reacts first. “Jeongguk!” He calls, eyes darting around, desperate to catch sight of the young Witcher.

“Taehyung?” His tone is uncertain. “Did I just hear _Taehyung?!”_

“Jeongguk?” He sobs, stumbling forward.

He can see the other now, amber eyes glowing faintly in the darkness, his hair dishevelled and his features all twisted with shock and surprise. Concern.

“Holy fuck, Taehyung. What are you doing down here?”

The artist doesn’t answer. He vaults into Jeongguk’s arms, barely able to restrain himself from wrapping his legs around the other’s waist, hugging into him like an animal.

“He came through the portal, as well,” Yoongi responds, tone displeased. “We ended up together, luckily, or he’d be dead by now.”

“Jeonggukkie,” Taehyung squeezes the Witcher tightly, trying his best to bury himself as deeply inside the other’s chest as he can possibly manage.

It feels almost resistant at first, but eventually, Jeongguk’s arms circle him, the fingers of his left hand burying themselves inside Taehyung’s dark hair. He presses his face into the crook of the Witcher’s neck, taking in a breath, and though his skin still smells vaguely of sewer and sweat, it also smells vaguely of _Jeongguk_.

And it’s the most comforted he’s ever felt in his whole life.

He cries. Wildly.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Jeongguk coos. “It’s okay, you’re safe. Yoongi-hyung was here to protect you, just like you wanted, right?”

Taehyung shakes his head, half delirious. “W-wanted you,” he sniffles.

“What?”

“N-needed you.”

There’s quiet, Jeongguk barely seems to breath, until, “okay,” he says, uncertain. “I’m here. Don’t cry anymore. I got you.”

“Promise?” Taehyung sniffles, pathetic, but he can’t help himself.

“Promise.”

The artist makes to pull away, but Jeongguk only squeezes him tighter. It’s a short hug, but it makes the shaky feeling in his hands recede a little bit, until he almost remembers what it’s like to feel brave again, not so much of the snivelling, weeping mess that he has been for the past hour, with Yoongi.

They break apart, Jeongguk wiping at Taehyung’s tearstained cheeks. He tries not to entirely preen at that touch, so gentle, so warm that it burns the young-man more, even, than the lips of another. More than a kiss that’s entirely forgotten.

Stupid, in retrospect.

He presses his forehead to Jeongguk’s and the young Witcher stills, amber eyes impossibly wide with surprise. He doesn’t pull away. Taehyung can feel the heat radiating off him and it’s so nice that it almost makes the sewage and sludge around them not entirely horrible.

Someone snorts loudly, and Jeongguk pulls away. Taehyung’s ready to pout but the brunet takes his freezing cold hand into his own, interlocking their fingers, pulling the artist just slightly behind him in a protective gesture that has become all too familiar.

“Where’s Jimin,” Yoongi asks, completely cool, not at all worried, seemingly, about the witch.

Jeongguk huffs. “Well, he’s with the drowners, right now.”

“You found them?”

“Sure did.” Jeongguk looks down at Taehyung as he droops his head against the Witcher’s shoulder. He smiles affectionately.

“Jeongguk,” Yoongi calls him to attention.

“Um, sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“What’s with the drowners?”

“It’s… not what we expected, hyung. I – I can’t even explain it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to see for yourself.”

“Why?”

“Something, really fucked up ‘s going on in this town.” Jeongguk squeezes Taehyung’s hand tightly, but this time, it’s not for the artist, it’s for himself.

And that. That’s fucking terrifying.

[Twitter](https://twitter.com/Mussells1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love triangle? What love triangle? Taekook 4 lyfeeeee. 
> 
> Come scream at me on Twitter, I get off on it.


	3. Dead, He Lies Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made the executive decision to release shorter chapters. The 17k was overwhelming - I have a short attention span and even shorter patience. I wanna give you more, more often. 
> 
> I've also updated the tags. There's mention of very brief rape, domestic abuse, intense homophobia, little bit of horror, and gore. If any of these trigger you, consider taking a breather from this fic - it might not be for you. Your mental safety comes first, always. 
> 
> Third, I've put together a mood board because there's some concepts that I'd like to communicate that are inherently incommunicable (thanks HP Lovecraft). If you ever need a visual aid: https://www.pinterest.com.au/fictionalmussells/feline-part-three-board/
> 
> That's all the house-keeping. Please enjoy!!! Shout out to Nettles and Amy for cheering-on this fic. I love them.

Jeongguk leads them through the dark, his hand caged inside Taehyung’s, ten knuckles straining white in the darkness. The path seems clear of monsters – Jeongguk’s work, Yoongi assumes – so they traverse the terrain mostly in silence.

          Yoongi’s enhanced senses strain against the quiet, the sound of Jeongguk crooning gently into Taehyung’s ear filtering through his hearing, dampened. It’s oddly still, especially for a place like this. Drowned Dead love sewage; Rotfeins, Ekkimaras and Foglets, as well. He’s surprised that the only creature he’s had to fight was the Bilge Hag.

          Either way, he grasps his silver sword in his palm about as tightly as Jeongguk holds Taehyung’s hand. Yoongi isn’t afraid, per se, but he is on high alert. There’s an odd feeling in the air. He can sense it already; his medallion hums against his chest, vibrating right through his sternum. It’s a little hot against his skin, even, and that’s generally, not a great sign. It only gets that way around powerful magic; say, if he were pressed against Jimin, for example.

          This is far more sinister.

          They turn a corner and –

          “What the fuck,” Yoongi breathes.

          “Right,” Jeongguk says, and he pulls Taehyung closer into his side.

          “What the fuck is it?”

          “I don’t know.”

          “What the fuck’s it for?”

          “It’s almost –”

          “Non-Euclidean.”

          Yoongi turns to the raven-haired boy, finds his face contorted strangely. “What?”

          “Euclidean. It’s a type of geometry,” Taehyung explains, “Y’know, squares and triangles and cubes and right-angles. That kind of stuff.”

          “And?”

          “And,” Taehyung continues. “When you look at a piece of art that’s structural, and the structure makes sense to your eye – it’s familiar – that’s because it’s generally Euclidean.”

          “Not here for a lesson,” Yoongi drawls, though he can’t deny – he’s interested.

          “But this,” he motions around them. “It obviously has function and design, but it looks so… odd. Alien, almost, right? We call it ‘non-Euclidean’. It’s hyperbolic, or elliptic. You see it a lot in modern art, and architecture – horror, sometimes. Science Fiction. It’s supposed to be thought-provoking, or, like, ‘Sublime’.”

          “Sublime?”

          “Yeah, but not like, as in, ‘this tastes sublime’. Sublime in the sense of a storm, or the Gods. It’s a theoretical and philosophical perspective in Aesthetics that describes a feeling of awe, or even fear at something inconceivable – whether that’s in beauty or in power… metaphysical. Spiritual. In his ‘ _Critique of Judgement’_ German philosopher Immanuel Kant suggests that there are two forms of the sub –”

          “How do I get it to stop, Jeongguk?”

          “I think it’s interesting,” the younger Witcher grins.

          Yoongi rolls his eyes. “It would be, if he had a point.”  

          Taehyung huffs. “Look, I’m just saying… You wanna know what it’s for, right? There’s generally one place you can find non-Euclidean shapes like these in your day to day.”

          “And what might that be?”

          “Churches, cathedrals,” he explains. “Places of worship.”

          “You think this is religious?”

          “I’m not the Witcher,” Taehyung resigns. “As you’ve pointed out. Many times.”

          Yoongi regards him. “Confident, now he’s got he’s back with his attack dog.”

          “Are you talking about me?” Jeongguk motions to himself, then he shakes his head, disregarding. “I don’t think it could be religious.”         

          “Just look at it,” Taehyung disagrees. “Don’t you get that feeling?”

          “Well, yeah.” Jeongguk gnaws his lip. “But I’m a person, with a brain, self-awareness. The drowners built this, they –”

          “They what now?” Yoongi’s brow dips so low that he can see it in his vision.

          “The drowners,” Jeongguk explains. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. They’re down here,” he motions to the structure. “They’re down here, building this.”

          Yoongi balks. “That’s impossible.”

          “Maybe so,” another voice joins the conversation. “But it’s happening.”

          Yoongi turns, isn’t surprised to see Jimin stalking towards them. The color of his clothes have changed since the last time they saw each other, before the portal. He had been dressed in pink: a blushy tank, with highlighter trousers and a fuzzy, peach-colored jumper; now he’s wearing a silky, navy-colored tunic and matching pants. His boots are laced up just below the knee, and in his hand is a ball of light that illuminates the entire space.

          He looks every bit the Witch. He’s as breath-taking as the structure around him, albeit for an entirely different reason.

          “Holy shit,” Taehyung breathes, stepping into Jeongguk, eyes darting above and around. “This is…”

          It’s difficult to describe. A chamber that is neither contained, nor cavernous. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he might say that it’s …decorative. He isn’t sure if he can call the walls ‘walls’, not in the way that they twist and curve, carved, and hollowed - contorted.

          In some points, the ceiling is not visible above them; in others it peaks and rolls; there are arches – at least he thinks that’s what they are – in shapes that he has no name for. Perhaps they aren’t ‘arched’ at all.

          There’s a certain undulation to the architecture – if he can even call it that. Doesn’t architecture have to be designed? If so – and, more to the point, if it _is,_ in fact, architecture – who designed it? Why? What purpose does it serve?

          It all makes him uncomfortable. He can’t explain why. It’s almost biological, or organic. But it’s somehow, unnatural. Everything seems to fester, if that’s even possible. It’s chaotic, and ugly, but at the same time he can’t deny a certain… organization: something inherently geometric. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to _him_ , but there is purpose, inherently, in the over-all structure; repetition, although not in a way that he expects or understands; not in a way that makes sense to his own eye.

          “Reminds me of Max Ernst,” Taehyung muses, arm curling around Jeongguk.

          “Who’s that?”

          “He was an artist. Just – something about this. It’s similar to some of his work. Surrealism…”

          “Well this is real, so,” Yoongi interjects.

          “I can see that,” Taehyung quips.

          “He’s just trying to contextualise,” Jimin interjects before Jeongguk can jump to the kid’s defence. “This is all very strange. Even to us, and we’ve seen it all, practically.”

          “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Jeongguk says, shaking his head. “And the drowners.”

          “The drowners,” Yoongi growls. “You said they were _building_ this?”

          “Yeah,” Jimin nods carefully. “There’s more than just this chamber. Down the way, a little, it’s like, a nursery, almost…”

          “You’re kidding.”

          “I saw it too,” Jeongguk offers. “We almost torched it straight-up, but we figured you’d wanna see first.”

          “I really don’t.” Yoongi rubs a grubby hand across his face. “What the fuck ‘s going on here? Is this the fucking reason the mayor wouldn’t give us access to the sewers? Did he know about this?”

          “I feel like we’ve stepped into a conspiracy,” Jeongguk murmurs.

          Yoongi turns to Taehyung. “You didn’t know about this, did you? You come down here to try and keep us away? I bet the whole fucking town’s in on th –”

          “Hyung,” Jeongguk whines, eyes flashing towards the ceiling in annoyance.

          “I swear,” Taehyung shakes his head, shoulders tense. “I have no fucking clue what this is. I’m as shocked as you are. More, probably.”

          “I highly doubt that,” Yoongi drawls.

          “It’s not a competition, hyung.”

          Jeongguk eyes the Witcher harshly, and Yoongi sticks out his tongue in response. It’s a silly gesture, but it has the younger grinning, none-the-less, breaking into the lurid atmosphere, if only for a second, before the group dissipates into silence once more, gazing around themselves, terrified, and awestruck.

          “Drowners are barely smarter than dogs,” Jeongguk breathes. “They wouldn’t know where to find their toes if you asked them.”

          “And yet they’re building this. We saw them.” Jimin’s torch leaves his hand to circle around his head, bobbing gently, casting light further for their eyes to take in.

          “Something must be controlling them.”

          “A fiend?” Jeongguk suggests.

          “Fiends are creatures of the wilds,” Yoongi shakes his head. “Why would they need an underground cathedral?”

          “So you do think it’s religious!” Taehyung whoops, voice oddly impacted, with no echo at all.  

          The older rolls his eyes, amber flashing dangerously in the dark. “I’m not willing to rule anything out. Even far-fetched, baseless ideas like yours.”

          Taehyung pouts and Yoongi turns away, eyes the strange architecture with a guilty fascination. Something deep down in his gut tells him he should be very, very worried. And a Witcher learns young that instinct will always be the first and final defence.

          He turns to Jimin, finds the Witch gazing around with a mirrored expression, his once-pink hair now shining navy in the torch-light. His lips are pressed together in a tight line, his sharp eyes pulled even sharper in concentration.

          It’s this, that worries the Witcher more than anything. He’s known Park Jimin for many, many years, learnt the other, practically, inside out; he’s seen all his expressions, the frowns and the smiles and the tears, sometimes too. But he’s never seen him look like this.

          Uncertain, maybe even a little bit scared.

          Yoongi crosses over to him, presses a cool hand to the back of the Witch’s roasting neck. “You okay?” He asks.

          Jimin smiles, still tight lipped but affectionate. “Yes,” he says. “Just… I don’t know what to make of this. And for someone who’s been alive as long as me, that’s a pretty uncomfortable feeling.”

          In reaction to those words, out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees Taehyung shiver.

          “Are you cold?” Jeongguk asks, slinging an arm right across the other’s shoulder.

          “I’m okay, Guk,” he smiles, thankful. “Just a little creeped out.”

          “Me too,” the young Witcher admits, runs his thumb across Taehyung’s cheekbone.

          Yoongi gags. Jimin grins at his side, mimics Jeongguk’s motion by pressing his own hand against the elder Witcher’s cheek. Yoongi considers, albeit briefly, pulling away. In the end he just shift his weight, sinks deeper into that touch.

          Jimin snickers. “Ah, so this is okay, is it?”

          “Don’t ruin it,” Yoongi growls.

          They stand like that for a moment, eyes locked, the pair comforted by each other’s closeness. Eventually though, Jimin shifts, his gaze a little less hazy, suddenly more focused. “What’s your plan, Master Witcher?”

          “We came down here to destroy the drowner nest. We destroy the drowner nest. I don’t know what _this_ is,” he motions to the cavern, “but if the drowners are building it, and we kill the drowners, then maybe whatever’s going on ends here. This place becomes a remnant. We forget we ever saw it, no one ever finds it, and that’s that.”

          “Sounds too good to be true.”

          “It is,” Yoongi admits. “But you’re fucking dreaming if you think that’s gonna stop me. I didn’t come to this Gods forsaken town to uncover some kind of magical conspiracy. I came here to deal with the monsters. I’m dealing with the monsters, and then I’m getting the fuck out of here.” He runs a hand through his silver hair. “I suggest that’s what we all do.”

          “This is my home,” Taehyung whispers.

          The Witcher blinks. “Not my problem,” he says.

          “But it’s my problem.” Jeongguk squares his shoulders, takes a protective stance over Taehyung.

          Yoongi breathes, exasperated. “Jeongguk –”

          “Hyung –”

          “Let’s not,” Jimin interjects, a small hand pressing into Yoongi’s chest. “Let’s not do this right now, okay? It’s creepy and it smells awful, and if we can agree on anything, it’s that none of us wanna be down here for a minute longer than necessary. So, let’s go deal with those drowners, and get the fuck out of dodge, huh?”

          Yoongi takes a measure breath, eyes his ward with a tight expression before turning to Jimin. “Lead the way, love.”

          There’s a split second of stillness between them before the Witch’s light bobs, takes them deeper into the structure.

          They follow Jimin in a sort-of protective formation, Taehyung wedged in between Yoongi and Jeongguk like some kind of treasure. If the situation were different, the elder might be annoyed – but down here, in this place, his mind is consumed with thoughts that twist and twirl like the architecture.

          Gazing about hurts his head. There’s so much to take in. The fractals all around them, spinning out of control, contorting oddly like broken bone; it has the Witcher wincing. This place makes his skin crawl. Taehyung looks positively ghostly, leaning into Jeongguk’s side like he’s having trouble even staying conscious.

          It’s this place, Yoongi realizes. It’s doing something to them. They don’t belong here – that much has been clear from the get-go. But maybe it it’s more than that, maybe this place is affecting them _physically_ , beyond simple, frazzled nerves and shivers running up and down their spines.

          “Anyone else feel weird as fuck?” Yoongi questions.

          “Taehyung’s not doing so hot,” Jeongguk answers. “But I feel it too.”

          Jimin stops in front of them. “What do you feel?” He asks, head cocked.

          “Honestly? Like I wanna curl into a ball and rock myself. I’m terrified, but it’s more than that. I just have this feeling like I should never, ever have seen this. It’s almost… traumatic. I can’t explain it.”

          “I feel it too,” Yoongi admits. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick. I wanna claw my eyes out. I wanna wake up and have this be a night-terror. Hopefully one I can’t remember.”

          “Interesting,” Jimin purses his lips. “I feel it too. Not as strongly. Like an itch in the back of my mind. It tells me to leave you here and save myself.”

          “Taehyung?” Yoongi asks.

          “Um,” his voice shakes. “I can’t – I don’t… I can’t open my eyes.”

          The Witcher opens his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts him. “Good,” he says. “Don’t. I’m going to reduce the torch-light. I think the less of this place we see, the better.”

          The glow diminishes, encasing the group in a small pocket of light. Beyond the bounds of their four-person formation, Yoongi can see nothing. It’s oddly comforting.

          “That helped,” Jeongguk breathes with relief. “That really helped. What the fuck is going on?”

          Jimin shakes his head, continues forward. “I don’t have an answer. I’ve read things… stories, mostly, very old stories about magic like this. It’s not even, really, magic. But I don’t have another word for it. I don’t want to make any assumptions – not now, when I know so little. All I can say for certain is that this place is not for us. It’s not for our eyes to see.”

          “The fuck does that mean?” Yoongi growls.

          “I don’t know,” Jimin admits. “I don’t know anything.”

          “That’s not comforting at all.”

          “It wasn’t meant to be.”

          They continue in silence, crowded together inside Jimin’s light, shoulders tense and hands shaking – the lot of them.  Yoongi’s faced a lot of scary thing in his life, but fear had always been an after-thought. In the moment, werewolf on your tail, there’s no time to be afraid. It’s kill or be killed, which is a simple equation, at least, it always had been, for the Witcher.

          But in this place, everything’s so quiet; he doesn’t seem to be in danger and yet something inside him curls awake and freezes inside his veins, weighing him down. To say he’s scared would be too simple. To say he’s awed would be too little. His body feels as if it’s no-longer his own, like he’s stuck inside it, skin stretching uncomfortably.

          He’s always been the hunter, but now he feels he’s being watched. There’s nothing, his senses confirm as much; he stretches them, flexes, searching. But there’s nothing. They’re alone.

All the same – he feels it. He’s standing at the edge of great storm, watching it brew, all the world falling to silence, the air pulling away until there’s nothing but that one terrifying _thing_.

          The more he focuses the harder it is to breathe. The more his brain struggles for an answer the deeper his stomach dips in dread. And yet it’s almost… compulsive. His eyes strain against the light because he’s terrified but he can’t look away. Past the safety of Jimin’s bubble there is horrifying, glorious realization. The answer might drive him straight to madness but he thinks he almost _has_ to know. He has to know. He’s willing to risk it because he has to –

          “Stop,” Jimin whispers, eyes in the darkness. “Stop this.”

          “I don’t – I can’t –”

          “You go down that road you don’t come back.” The Witch places a hand against his cheek. “You understand? You don’t come back. Not ever.”

          “Jimin, I –”  
          “Stay here,” the Witch breathes, caressing gently. “Stay here with me.”

          Yoongi almost says no. It’s at the tip of his tongue. But then there’s something. It’s so very small, yet it irks him. What was he even searching for? Was there something out there in the darkness that caught his eye? He doesn’t think so. It was simply a feeling. Just a little tiny blip of curiosity that spun out of control. Something sinister, maybe. He isn’t sure. He isn’t sure of anything – not down here.

          But Jimin. He’s solid and warm and familiar. Familiarity is safe – especially in a place like this. He doesn’t want to stray from that. If he does, he’s sure he’ll prove the witch right. If he strays, he’ll never come back.

          “Okay,” he breathes. And suddenly it’s all gone. Suddenly he’s back, blinking against the fact that Jimin is suddenly so close, sweet scent invading his senses again, although, not unwanted this time.

          “What just happened?” Jeongguk asks, arm reaching out to grasp Yoongi’s.

          “I don’t know,” the elder admits. “I don’t – I don’t remember.”

          “You just, zoned out. You were looking at the wall and then you just… disappeared. It was kind of scary, hyung.”

          “Keep your eyes forward,” Jimin says, voice tight. “Don’t look at anything but me and my light. We’re nearing the drowners. We’re gonna torch them and then we’re getting the fuck out of here and never, ever speaking of this place ever again. Understand?”

          There’s silence.

          “Does everyone fucking understand me? Don’t look at anything. Don’t touch anything. Don’t even think about anything except for me and my light.”

          “O-Okay.”

Jeongguk is the first to speak, followed by a chorus of mumbled affirmations.

“The drowners,” Yoongi says after a long bout of silence. “I can hear them”

“Don’t,” Jimin warns. “Your Witcher senses. You have to resist.”

“What?” Jeongguk turns, still clutching Taehyung around the middle. “I don’t – can we even do that?”

“You have to. Focus on something else. Anything within this circle, between us.”

The pair of Witchers nod. Yoongi settles easily into meditation, allows Jimin’s sugary scent to fill all his senses, cloud around him until it’s almost visual, until he can almost hear it shimmer in the air – taste it against his tongue like candy.

When they come upon the drowners, Yoongi’s surprised. One, because he isn’t a generally aware as usual, and two, because they don’t attack. Not at all. They don’t even seem agitated by their presence. Yoongi does his best not to gaze into the distance, but Jimin’s torch bobs, illuminates the cavern for a brief moment that has the Witcher sucking in a nervous breath.

There’s hundreds of them.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk gasps. “This is _not normal_.”

“Nothing about this is normal,” Yoongi follows up. “Nothing’s _been_ normal since we arrived in this town.”

“Nothing to be done,” Jimin says. “To the nursery.”

It isn’t far. When they enter inside Yoongi is enveloped by hot, steaming air; the smell of sewage permeates Jimin’s sweet scent – it has Yoongi reeling. Jeongguk doesn’t fare much better, coughing into his hand while Taehyung positively gags, doubling over, retching.  

There’s lines and lines and rows and rows of drowner eggs, unhatched. Normally, this would pose a significant issue – but with Jimin in tow, they should make quick work of it.

“Let’s do this,” the Witch motions ahead, his hands already glowing red-hot.

“Tae, I’m gonna need both my hands.” Jeongguk does his best not to jostle the boy, who isn’t as pale as he once was, but he still doesn’t look _good_. “Need both my hands for a sustained sign.”

“It’s alright, Gukkie.” He smiles tight. “Go do your thing.”

Taehyung falls away, his eyes closing shut as Jeongguk steps up on the opposite side of Jimin. They ready their hands in front of them, fingers curling in preparation.

“Without our sense we’re firing blind, Jimin,” Yoongi comments.

“It’s fine. I’m gonna light this place up, anyway.”

After that, it’s just fire. Yoongi’s taken momentarily aback. He’d forgotten how it feels – the raw energy of Jimin’s magic, set free. It’s ferocious. It curls out of his hands like a viper, blasting into the space with such uninhibited force that it blow all their hair back.

Yoongi’s medallion bursts to life, white hot against his skin. He casts his own sign, Jeongguk too, and their own fire looks pathetic when compared to the Witch’s but every little helps. The drowner eggs begin to disintegrate, melting away one by own, row by row and line by line.

The smell is awful, Yoongi can’t deny, but there’s something inherently satisfying about watching it all lilt and burn away. Jimin moves his hands, moving his flame easily while Jeongguk and Yoongi allow themselves to be directed.

Sustained signs are taxing. They might have similar titles but Witchers and Witches are not at all alike. A small burst of focused magic requires no prior knowledge of magical formula. Not like Jimin’s magic. His magic is decades of study and knowledge; it’s practice – years and years of focus; it’s the memory of those who came before him – thousands of witches, through the millennium.

And it shows. It really shows.

“Your fire sucks,” Jimin calls.

His own falters, ebbing away until Jeongguk and Yoongi have a hot hand on either shoulder. It scorches into their flesh, Jimin muttering under his breathe, old words in a language that neither Witcher can understand. Eventually, just as the heat almost seems too much, Jimin pulls away.

“Give that a shot,” he says, throwing his own fire out of his palms once more in a brilliant array.

Jeongguk casts Igni – it leaps forth from his hand with so much force that he stumbles backward.

“What the fuck,” he calls, though he’s laughing, smile spread across his face.

“I’ve reinforced your sign with my own spell,” the Witch explains over the roar of flame. “It’s not permanent. Don’t get used to it.”

After that, they make quick work of the drowner eggs. What might have taken two Witcher weeks to deal with is up in smoke in less than ten minutes. When it’s over, the cavern clear, Jimin sags against Yoongi’s side, skin as hot as anything – hotter than the medallion that sears into Witcher’s flesh.  

“You good?”

“Fine,” Jimin smiles. “Out of practice. Don’t use a lot of elemental magic these days. Mostly make luck charms. Was fun, though.”

“Can I do anything?”

“No, love,” the Witch laughs, breathy, presses his hot palm into Yoongi’s cheek. “Just need a sec, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He turns. “Hang tight, guys. We’ll get the fuck outta here soon.”

* * *

 

The firelight flickers in Taehyung’s eyes. He tries not to stray; it’s difficult, but it’s also an excuse to keep his gaze fixed on the curve of Jeongguk’s upper arm, and that isn’t bad. Not bad at all.

          Unlike the smell. The smell is perverse and horrible, a mixture of fire and sewage and burning filth and muck and Jimin’s magic sitting sugary sweet over everything. It hurts behind Taehyung’s eyes and though he rubs against his temple he finds no relief.

          Following the Witchers down here may have been the worst idea he’s ever had. Beyond anything else – beyond the fear, and the scent, and the fact that he almost died – he’s infuriated. Maybe Yoongi was right. Is he one of those, now? Small town rich kids looking for trouble with an almost malicious and negligible disregard for those around them?

          He can’t be sure.

          What he does know, is that he didn’t used to feel this way. He used to be rock solid. He used to shine brightly, wake up happy in the mornings. Nowadays he’s just tired. Always tired – and for a minute or less, when the Witcher’s came to town, he felt awake. Finally.

          This, though? He glances around quickly, eyes rounding back to Jeongguk when he feels a smidgen of that investigative allure. This might be too much. He isn’t equipped. The fact that he thought he ever was makes him feel particularly small and childish and mostly idiotic.

          He just needs a shower.

          And a hug, maybe.

          “Hey,” Jeongguk whispers, appearing in front. “You okay?”

          His eyes are gentle and round and glowing faintly in the dark. Taehyung can see in the light of the fire that his face is a little dirty and his cheeks are red from exertion – but he could also be a little boy, just coming in from playtime. Jeongguk retains that innocence, no matter what the scenario. Taehyung likes that about him, he notes. He likes that despite the gun and the muscles and the silver sword, Jeongguk is, by nature, non-threatening. It doesn’t make sense – but he likes it.

          “Yeah I’m fine,” Taehyung does his best to smile, grimaces instead, accidentally.

          “Cold?”

          “Not really. Just, creeped out.”

          Jeongguk watches him gently, pulls on the edge of his shirt where it’s slipping off his shoulder and covers him. It’s very intimate and caring so Taehyung can’t find it in himself to place any blame when he launches into the young Witcher’s arms, buries his head against the other’s shoulder.

          “Tae,” Jeongguk breathes, voice dripping sympathetically.

          “Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t be nice. I’ll cry. Again.”

          “Can I hug you back, at least?”

          Taehyung swallows the ball in his throat, nods against his friend’s hard shoulder. Jeongguk shifts a little as his arms wrap around the other – maybe the artist hears the Witcher laugh, but he isn’t sure. All he knows is how this might be the safest place in the world. He’ll fight anyone that tries to argue.

So they stand like that for a while, Taehyung breathing into Jeongguk’s neck while the amber-eyed boy rocks him gently in a way that could be condescending, but it isn’t. It’s just comforting. It’s just how Jeongguk seems to be able to communicate love through his skin, into Taehyung without any kind of signal or sign. Just by existing, maybe.

And the way it makes him feel… scarier than this place they’re in.

Almost.

And he says almost, only because there’s a terrifying call in the darkness that has Jeongguk pushing Taehyung behind his shoulder, silver sword drawn at his side. It’s the kind of sound that has Taehyung’s more basic lizard-brain curling right on into itself, telling him he should bury his head in the ground, play dead, maybe. Just fucking scurry right into the fire and end it here because whatever’s coming is the end of all of them – and it won’t be pretty.

“What the fuck is that,” Jeongguk growls, head whipping from side to side.

Taehyung feels vibration in the ground beneath their feet.

“I don’t recognize the call,” Yoongi says, his own sword zinging, runes crackling in the air like campfire.

Jimin sidles beside Taehyung. “I don’t recognize it either,” his prominent jaw tightens against those words.

“We’re fucked then,” Yoongi laughs.

“Whatever it is, it’s shaking the earth. I can feel under my feet.” Jeongguk’s free arm wraps protectively around Taehyung’s middle, pulling the artist right into his tensed back until his palms are splayed against the coarse material of his vest. “It’s big.”

“Jeongguk,” Taehyung whispers.

“It’s okay.” His arm squeezes impossibly tight. “I’ve got you.”

“Jimin portal us out,” Yoongi growls. Almost in the same moment, the call sounds again. Closer this time. “Fucking, portal us out, Jimin!”

“I’m trying,” the Witch gasps. “I can’t, it won’t – it won’t take –”

“The fuck do you mean it _‘won’t take’?”_

“I mean,” he gasps, voice strained. “This place is runed!”

“Yeah, I know it is,” Yoongi responds. “ _You_ runed it!”

“No,” Jimin shakes his head. “These runes aren’t mine. If they were mine I could disable them, but I can’t. I don’t even know where they are. It feels like I’ve been shackled.”

There’s a moment of impregnable silence. Taehyung knows what it means. Or at least he thinks he does. They’re probably going to die down here. This creatures, this monster, whatever it is, is coming to them quickly and it intends to murder them. Nothing that makes a sound like that has good intentions.

Taehyung almost laughs. This situation – certain death – shouldn’t be so familiar to him. Yet, here he is again. Those same thoughts flashing through his mind with a few alterations: he still wishes he’d had more sex in college; he thinks, maybe, he’s falling in love, awkwardly and slowly and decides that it’s better than nothing; it would’ve been good to tell his brother he hated him before he died – would’ve been satisfying; it’s a shame that Yoongi is his last kiss. Jeongguk would’ve kissed him tenderly. It would be nice to move on from this world with the memory of that gentle delicacy against his mouth.

“There’s a way out,” Jimin says, his light whipping around his head, bobbing up and down frantically in front of the Witch’s face.

“What now?” Yoongi calls.

“Earlier, I sent my light to scout. It knows a way out. A place beyond the bounds of the protective-runes – ”

“And it’s only telling us fucking _now?!”_

“Well I’m sorry that I have to be responsible for literally saving our asses time and time again while you and your little Witcher buddy over there fumble around like fucking foo –”

“Can you two do this later,” Jeongguk growls. “We need to get him out of here.”

 _Him_. Taehyung assumes that he’s the ‘him’ Jeongguk is referring to and it makes him feel a little bit sick with affection. Because the artist is by no means important. He’s dead-weight to them, more than anything. But Jeongguk always puts him at the front of the line. His feelings. His safety.

He thinks the young Witcher might be the stupidest person he’s ever met.

Jimin motions to his light. “Show us the way,” he instructs, and it buzzes forward, whizzing into the distance at a speed too fast for Taehyung to follow. Jeongguk starts to move, the artist still pressed to his back when Jimin stops him. “You need to give him to me.”

“Like fucking hell, Witch.”

Taehyung starts for two reasons. One, because there’s another hideous call which echoes through the cavernous space in an ugly, terrifying cacophony of noise – and it sounds fucking close. Second, because he’s never heard Jeongguk use that tone before. Never ever.

Jimin inches closer to the Witcher’s face. “Put your love-sick, possessive bullshit aside. I’ve got more power in my little-finger than you’ll know in your entire life. I can protect him better. If you care about him like your silly doe-eyes say you do, you’ll let me have him.”

Jeongguk turns, his jaw constricts, but he nods. In a fraction of a second Taehyung’s passed across to Jimin whose finger interlock easily within his own. The artist is surprised by the heat of his hands. It’s not natural body heat. He’s never felt anything like it. But it doesn’t burn him, and it doesn’t hurt.

Anyway, he whimpers at the loss of Jeongguk.

Jimin watches him fractionally, his eyes glinting, but then they’re on their way without another word. They move practically in single file, Jeongguk leading them, following the light which bobs in the distance, Yoongi bringing up the rear. They’re moving fast. Inhumanly fast.

The floor still shakes and the monster still calls and Taehyung’s head starts to hurt and his eyes start to burn. He feels this odd compulsion to turn around, or stop running, or maybe bang his head against the wall until he’s unconscious.

He’s tired. He should be filled with adrenaline, but he isn’t. He’s bones are lethargic and the pain behind his eyes is explosive; though he’s terrified, carrying on doesn’t really seem worth it, does it? Besides, the creature’s gaining. Taehyung can hear its slithering body running against the walls. They run, still.

It’s like it’s inside him, the monster, crawling through his veins, lodging itself beneath his flesh, ugly and dark and swollen. He hasn’t seen the creature – only heard it – but somehow he knows it’s form, hears it’s voice in the way that it boils the air around them.

They’re running full speed ahead, enveloped by darkness, a light and the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy footfalls the only thing guiding them. Jimin is shouting something that Taehyung can’t quite hear lost in this odd limbo. Neither here with his friends, nor lost with monster and the drowners in this place that his eyes were never meant to see.

But it feels oddly like home.

Taehyung can feel himself slowing, but Jimin pulls against his arm with an incredible, inhuman strength. He’s shouting, his lithe voice tense and broad but still too quiet to invade this fog that settles around Taehyung’s mind. He isn’t really running anymore – he’s just stumbling because Jimin’s pulling his arm so harshly. He can’t remember how to open his mouth and speak; but he wants to tell the Witch – he needs to tell the Witch that he’s home – that he wants to _stay_ here.

Because he hates the town, anyway. Always has. He can’t believe he thought the creature roared when it’s voice is low and sweet and melodious and known to him. It doesn’t slither, either – not really. It’s foot falls are quaint and measured, which makes the fact that they are still racing seem really quite silly. He feels like he’s underwater. It’s quiet, just his heart beat, water in his ears, muffled voices all around.

They’re not even inside the structure anymore. It’s disappointing. He wants to be there, in that place Jimin’s voice screams raw that they should never have seen, and yet Taehyung feels it’s there only for his eyes.      They’ve run a long way, this much he’s sure of. Everything else is so… intangible. Jimin’s hand had been so solid in his, and yet now, it could be smoke. Those voices fade to nothing, amber eyes watching him with more fear than should ever be possible.

The ground quivers and the air crackles purple but Taehyung can’t see any of that – not really, at least. He can hear his friends but his brain is elsewhere, on the beautiful figure in front of him. It’s edging closer and closer, still practically out of sight. He doesn’t know why everyone’s yelling frantically, because his brother often hurt Taehyung but he was always nice to strangers.

It’s odd, then – that the artist feels suddenly so calm.

“Bogumie-hyung,” he calls, hand reaching out.

He’s still so far away, the only thing Taehyung can really make out is the whites of his teeth as he smiles that brilliant smile. Bogum is saying something – words that Taehyung can’t quite hear. It’s just the rumble of his lovely voice, deeper, even, than Taehyung’s. That voice used to scare him.

Now it’s filled with melody.

“Bogumie-hyung, what are you doing down here?” Taehyung asks, stepping forward as sharp voices explode around him, so loud that they mange to burrow into his ear, and crackle against his brain.

_(“What the fuck is he doing?” Yoongi snaps, his body already turned towards the portal. For the first time his fear is facing elsewhere, not at the crackling mass in front of him._

_“It’s Bogum,” Jimin breathes. “His brother.”_

_“What?! No one else is fucking here!” Yoongi growls. “But I hear that fucking_ thing _and I feel it in the ground. We need to go now or we’re dead!”_

_“I see him,” the Witch shakes his head. “I see him though he isn’t here.”_

_“Jimin I don’t know what that means, but we have to go. We have to go right now. Right now, Jimin!”_

_“Taehyung,” Jimin cries. He’s pulling on his arm but the artist won’t budge. It’s like his feet are cemented into the ground, his eyes far off, gazing. “Taehyung please, we have to go through the portal. Taehyung the creature is coming. Please, Taehyung. Please, please.”)_

Taehyung doesn’t care what his friend is saying, even though his sharp eyes are unusually wide and frantic and searching, whipping over his left shoulder from time to time as Bogum’s white smile edges closer and closer. He’s still talking to Taehyung and Taehyung still can’t  make out the words. He just hears his low voice, like pretty background music in a darkened restaurant, the crackle of Jimin’s violet portal like candle-light.

Taehyung tries to take take another step towards his brother when amber eyes cloud his vision. Something ticks, annoyed, inside the artist’s brain because these eyes are harder to ignore. Much harder to ignore than Jimin’s. These hands that rest against his neck don’t boil like the Witch’s. They’re warm in a different way that reaches through the rushing, sound-dampening water of his brother’s song.

“Taehyung,” Jeongguk whispers. “Please, please, Taehyung.”

The artist is confused. Why does Jeongguk look like that? Like he’s dying, maybe – like his heart is caught inside a vice that he himself cannot release. He wants to look past the Witcher’s features and see his brother’s pretty smle, but he’s held by something quiet that grips against his own chest. Jeongguk’s thumbs against the planes of his face. Jeongguk’s breath on his cheek. Jeongguk’s amber eyes.

Jeongguk’s forehead pressed into his own.

Jeongguk’s lips brushing his, a desperate whisper of  touch.

It’s barely registers. It’s also impossible to miss because Taehyung’s thoughts might be elsewhere but his body reacts. His body reacts to Jeongguk’s like two physical forces moved only by each other until Taehyung is in free-fall, eyes coming into focus, sound and color bursting alive around him in a clap of thunderous proportion.

The monster roars, impossibly close, and Taehyung sees it.

He sways, vision darkening to nothing.

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes it’s to Jeongguk’s writhing form, Yoongi over him, holding him still,  Jimin at his leg, his cotton-candy magic impregnating the air. They’re pressed into the dirt of outside the front of his own house.

“What’s –”

“We had to close the portal,” Yoongi answers with a growl. “He wasn’t all the way through.”

“What do you –”

“The creature,” he explains, straining against Jeongguk. “It had a hold of him. We – we had to close the portal.”

“I don’t –” But Taehyung shifts, his eyes glance Jimin’s sopping sleeves, bile rises in his throat.

Where Jeongguk’s foot should be – there’s nothing. Just severed artery, and pouring blood.

* * *

 

“How is he?” Yoongi sits on the edge of Jeongguk’s bed, pushes his son’s hair out of his closed eyes with sigh that seems to start right down in his toes. The kid has some of his color back, and Yoongi catches his thumb against the tiny scar on the younger’s cheek. “It’s been days.”

          “Growing a foot is tough,” Jimin laughs, “not to mention painful. I’ll wake him once he’s got all his bones back, I promise.”

          Yoongi sets free another puff of air before pushing up from Jeongguk’s side, careful not to jostle him as if that much could wake the injured boy from his magically induced coma. “I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” he chokes. “First he almost drowns. Then he loses a leg. He almost bled to death on Taehyung’s fucking porch.” He looks across at Jimin. “What would I have done if you weren’t there?” He asks, frantic. “He’d be dead. At the least his time on the path would be completely shot. What is he, if not a Witcher?”

          Jimin smiles, sympathetic, shifts across the sprawling bedroom until he can wrap his arms around Yoongi’s middle, hook his chin over the Witcher’s shoulder. “But I was there, so there’s no point thinking like that, is there?”

          Yoongi laughs, thick with uncried tears. He hates Jimin. That the Witch has this affect – softens him until he’s little more than a kitten. As if Jeongguk hasn’t done enough of that. He’s surrounded, assaulted from all directions. Completely powerless to push Jimin away when his lips press into the corner of his jaw.

          His body – the great betrayer – settles into the Witch’s arms.

          “I could smell Taehyung against your lips,” he breathes, mouth pressed to the base of Yoongi’s ear.

          “He experienced an err in judgement,” he explains away, concise.

          Jimin laughs easy. “I know.”

          “You aren’t upset?”

          The Witch scoffs. “You’ll only love one man in this life, and it isn’t Kim Taehyung.”

He says it with such conviction. Yoongi feels his heart flip-flop inside his chest because he knows how true it is. Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but today, of all days, he’s especially weak. Weaker than usual, when it comes to Jimin.

So he asks.

“And you,” he says, his own hands cradling Jimin’s. “How many men will you love in this life?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Jimin exhales, kisses the patch of exposed skin atop the Witcher’s shoulder. “You’re etched into my bones, Min Yoongi. There will only ever be you.”

“Even after I die?”

“Even then.”

Their bond is a strange type of magic. Yoongi has always been too stupid to understand it in its entirety. All he can ever remember is that he’s stronger when Jimin’s around – weaker when he’s isn’t; that he’s forever moved by the man with the sharp, dark eyes and the smile that heals and wounds in equal parts.

They had fallen in love all those years ago; Yoongi had found it hard to breath when he left. Meeting Jeongguk, bringing him home from that awful place; learning how to be a father – not even realizing that he _was_ one until a six year old was crawling into his bed late at night, burning with fever, snotty nose pressed up against his neck, begging to be wrapped up in the arms Yoongi had only ever used to destroy. Finding comfort there, of all places. Finding love.

Jeongguk healed the damage Jimin inflicted. And now Jimin heals Jeongguk. It felt like this was always meant to happen, as it often did, where Jimin was involved. Fate, and the like: Yoongi had never believed. But Min Yoongi is Min Yoongi and Park Jimin is Park Jimin and they will always be like magnets. It’s is why he never really understood…

“Why did you do it?” He asks suddenly, surprising himself.

Jimin’s stills. “You wanna do this now?”

Yoongi purses his lips. Finds it hard to be honest, though he pushes the urge to lie. “I never fell out of love with you, but it seems like I’m falling _back in,_ anyway.” He sighs, sees Jimin’s features brighten in the corner of his vision. “Knowing why couldn’t be worse than how I felt when it happen –”

“She didn’t deserve to die.”

Yoongi frowns. “She was attacking the city, Jimin. She killed so many –”

“They were hunting her!” The witch shouts, his arms pulling away, spinning on his heel until his face is entirely hidden. “They were hunting her for sport. Those bastards that hired you, they were hunting her like she was fucking _game_.”

“You _worked_ for the people that hired me,” Yoongi calls, his palms open in confusion.

“That’s how I knew,” the Witch admits. “That’s how I knew what they were doing.”

“She’s a Bruxa, Jimin. It’s not as if she couldn’t fucking protect herself.” The Witch turns, and Yoongi gasps – tears streak his face – he hasn’t seen Jimin cry in decades. “Love –”

“They tricked her,” he chokes. “She loved the son – remember him? Blonde and handsome… always whistling.”

Yoongi squints against his memory. It was a long time ago, that contract – long before he met Jeongguk – back in the days when he travelled the path alone. He’d been called to a small city in the West; an affluent family, terrorized by a vampire. Fifteen dead already. In a state of panic they offered him more money than he thought possible, than he knew existed in the world. In his youth, in his naivety, he took the contact without a second thought.

He’d been shocked to find Jimin there. Should’ve known right then and there; the types of families that employ Witches, are not the types that Witcher’s should trust. But he was _surprised_ to see his lover. It had been months. But magnets are as magnets do – they were pulled together into that particular tragedy. It wasn’t the first…but when it was over, it certainly felt like the last.

“He poisoned her with black blood,” the Witch cries, continuing. “And they raped her. A group of them. She did nothing to them. She loved that boy. She wasn’t the monster – not ever. It was him. It was always him.”

Yoongi shakes his head, shocked. “Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it was you!” Jimin cries. “There was a chance you’d convince me out of it, and I would’ve let you. I would’ve listened to anything you said.”

“I would’ve helped you, Jimin!”

“I couldn’t be sure. I knew  you might, but I couldn’t be sure. I had to save her. I couldn’t let her die – not after what they did. It was justice. What she did to that family. It was justice - plain and simple.”

“I don’t disagree with you but –”

“I thought you would come to me,” Jimin cries, wiping at the tears along his cheeks. “You always came to me or let me know where to find you. I thought I could explain. That it would be okay. But you never came. I never heard from you.”

Yoongi runs his hand through his hair. “I spent the retainer preparing for the hunt. When I couldn’t catch the Bruxa they demanded I return it. I didn’t have it. They – they locked me up. The attacks started again. I was held for eight months. Then it all stopped, so they let me go…”

Jimin’s eyes widen – red and shining. “It’s because I killed her,” he sobs. “She was never right – after what they did. Her mind was, broken. I couldn’t help her. I took her away but the hunt consumed her. She was wild. Out of control so I –”

“Jimin,” Yoongi says, reaching out, taking the Witch into his arms.

“I was trying to do right,” he cried. “Because I was always so selfish. The Lodge looked down on me, like – like I was whoring out my magic, working for wealthy families. Said I was a sell-out. I just – just wanted to do one good thing. Even that was fucking self-interested. And in the end s-she died anyway. I killed her. I h-hurt you.”

“Shhh,” Yoongi coos. “It’s okay.”

“I thought you w-were just b-being difficult,” Jimin chokes out. “N-not calling.”

“Well for the first eight months, no, but after that I was just pissed off… I stayed away to punish you.”

“I should’ve called,” Jimin hiccups. “I was too ashamed – too proud.”

“I thought you did it to fuck with me – I should’ve known better.” Yoongi admits, shakes his head, presses his lips into Jimin’s purple hair.

“N-no,” Jimin stutters pulling back to look the Witcher in his amber-eyes. “I was a-awful to you. The most difficult b-boyfriend ever.”

“I was in love with you – I didn’t care.”

“I k-know,” Jimin admits. “That’s why I did it. I never wanted to b-be tied down. I w-wanted to live recklessly forever. Me and my magic – untouchable. When I met you for the very first time, I’d never been more devastated by anything in all my years of life. I felt like you stole e-everything from me. I wanted to p-punish you. I w-wanted to be with you but I wanted to punish you for it.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi says, because it feels like the only thing he _can_ say.

“I knew it was a possibility,” Jimin laughs. “I felt you coming. ‘ _My Fated pulls against my bones/ Which grow towards him/ As roots unto the core of this Earth / My Fated pulls against my bones’.”_

          He quotes a very old poem. Yoongi’s heard it before, seen it scrawled into the dogged pages of Jimin’s grimoire – a manuscript that’s been with his family since the dawn of time. Since before memory.

That’s the nature of this ancient magic that ties the Witch and Witcher. It’s the oldest magic – the strongest – the type that births Universes and sets Fate in motion.

          “Three-hundred-and-twelve years,” Jimin laughs. “I thought I lucked out. No soulmate to boot. No need to share my power.”

          “I’m sorry,” Yoongi says again.

          “No,” Jimin shakes his head. “No, you’re everything. You’re absolutely everything. You always were, I was just idiotic. I was young and fucking idiotic. I don’t want to live without you. Everything I thought before was wrong.” Jimin starts to cry again. “I love you,” he sobs. “I love you; I’ll do anything for you. I’ll save your son one million times. One trillion times. How ever many times I have to. And when you’re gone, I’ll watch him still, forever, until his last breath. His children, and his children’s children, until you’re reborn, and we come together again.”

          Tears collect in Yoongi’s eyes and he readies himself for a shock of embarrassment that never comes. Because this is Jimin. They were designed for each other. Time could never change that. It’s definitely tried. _They_ have definitely tried. But here they are again, together. Impossibly together – inexplicably and unescapably.

          “I love you,” Yoongi breathes. It’s obvious, at this point. Still feels good to say.

          “Yeah?” Jimin smiles brightly, despite his tears. “You don’t have to. I’m always gonna be there but there’s no universal law that says you have to love me b –”

          “Jimin,” Yoongi laughs. “I love you. Kiss me. I love you.”

          He does. The Witcher puts everything he’s got into that kiss. All the sorrys and the thank-yous and the I love yous that they’ve missed out on in the twenty-five years they’ve been apart.

How easy it is for Yoongi to forget all the suffering of that time, Jimin slotting his lips against his own, over and over, lovely and dizzying and a little bit painful in all the best ways.

They clash teeth, both smiling. Because _this feels good_. This feels like waking up to breakfast-in-bed on Sunday morning after a good-nights sleep. This feels like a hot bath unravelling  tired muscles. This feels like coming home after so long.

Jimin hooks a leg around Yoongi’s lower back, hanging off him comically. They both laugh, Yoongi grunts something along the lines of _‘my son’s in the room’_ which Jimin promptly ignores because they just want to kiss, for now. They’ll make-love later. They’ll learn each other all over until fucking fast and hard feels just as intimate as the sweet-nothings, whispered against hot skin, that follow.

For now, this is fine.

This is better than fine.

This is –

“Oh my fucking Gods.”

Taehyung’s glass of water shatters against the ground, he stands in the doorway gaping, obviously lacks the common decency (or ability, _fucking imbecile_ ) to turn away.

“He’s dead,” Yoongi grumbles, reaching for his holstered gun.

Jimin laughs. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

The Witch looks at him, grinning. “Because I think he’s built for your boy.”

 

* * *

 

“You have magic in your family,” Jimin says, eyeing Taehyung carefully, measured and uncertain.

          “I have what?”

          “Magic,” Yoongi repeats. “In your family.”

          Taehyung sits quietly for a moment, hands cradled gently in his lap, perched on the end of Jeongguk’s bed, body angled, unconsciously protective. He looks between the Witch and Witcher, tries his best to fry the image of the pair making-out over the top of Jeongguk’s unconscious body from his mind.

He considers it briefly. Magic? In his family?

          Then, he promptly and without quarter, bursts into peels of whooping laughter.

          “Jimin,” Yoongi growls. “Gimme my gun.”

          “No.”

          “Gimme my gun, Jimin!”

          “Are you out of your minds?” Taehyung wheezes. “You forget to breath while Yoongi-hyung had his tongue down your throat, Chim?”

          “Give me my gun!”

          “We’re a family of penniless _immigrants_ ,” Taehyung shouts, wiping salty tears from his eyes. “My ancestors couldn’t _read_ let alone use _magic!_ You’re trying to tell me they were _witches?!”_

“Don’t look penniless anymore,” Yoongi drawls.

          “We won this land on accident.”

          “That’s convenient.”

          “Look, Tae,” Jimin levels, interrupts Taehyung as he opens his mouth to tell Yoongi to ‘ _fuck off’_ with his whole chest. “I know you don’t remember what you saw down there, but I sure as fuck do. It was your brother. Bogum. Your _dead brother Bogum_. His image projected over the beast. It’s a form of Illusion Magic; very, very powerful illusion magic.”

          Taehyung frowns. “Well then how do you know it was even really him? Maybe someone was projecting it to mess with me.”

          “No,” Jimin shakes his head. “No it doesn’t work like that. If it’d been that kind of spell, I would’ve seen something different. I would’ve seen a form significant to me, personally. That was Bogum. For _certain_.” Jimin turns to Yoongi. “He projected an image of himself over the creature. I don’t know if he did it to protect Taehyung or confuse him but –”

          Taehyung scoffs, interrupting. “My brother tried to stab me once,” he says lightly. “Don’t see that he’d be particularly concerned with looking after me now.”

          “He did _what?”_ Yoongi balks.

          “I told you we weren’t close,” Taehyung waves him off. “I meant it. Which is another reason why there’s no chance in _hell_ Bogum has – had – any kind of magic. He would’ve used it to torture me. There’s no fucking way he’d let a skill like that go to waste.”

          “That’s fucked up.” Yoongi’s eyes flash to Jeongguk, soften a little.

          “It was Bogum, Tae.”

          He shakes his head. “It wasn’t.”

          “Taehyung, don’t be stupid. It was him. I’m telling you. It was Bogu –”

          “IT WASN’T BOGUM!”

          Taehyung screeches, the room falls silent, Jimin watches him with wide eyes that are not void of sympathy. That only irritates him more. He wants to be angry – just fucking angry – but instead he shakes. He shakes like a little leaf because he’s _scared_.

          If Bogum’s alive – if Bogum has magic – then Taehyung’s a sitting duck. His time on this plane is limited. He’s already come so close to dying, narrowly escaping more than once; if his older brother’s around, that bastard sure to finish the job.

          “Taehyung –”

          “You don’t understand.” Taehyung’s eyes flash between the men in front of him. “Bogum is _evil_. When he was alive he found out I had a boyfriend and blackmailed him into setting up a date so he could crash with a group of his lackies and beat the living shit out of me. He saw me kiss a boy at a bar once – he put a knife through my hand.” He lifts his palm to show the scar. “He was aiming for my eye,” he says. “I used to sleep with my bedroom locked, desk against the door, because I was afraid he might murder me in my sleep. _He’s_ the one that burnt down the library. Just to fuck with me, he burnt down a whole _building_.” Taehyung shakes his head. “If Bogum’s alive, then you should give Yoongi his gun, Jimin, because I’d rather he ended me instead. I’ll close my eyes and you can just fucking end it right here –”

          “Gods, Taehyung, stop it!” Jimin cries.

          “Fuck,” Yoongi watches him carefully. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

          “If he’s alive, I’m dead anyway. I’d rather go quickly.” He looks at Yoongi. “I didn’t leave this place because I was looking for thrills; I left because it was _hell_. When my father died, I didn’t even come back. I loved my dad. I loved him like Jeongguk loves you. He was kind; the only one in this Godsforsaken town who treated me like I was worth something. Like I had fucking purpose. And I didn’t even come back for his funeral because I was afraid to see my _brother_.” Taehyung laughs, runs his hands raw across his face. “How fucked up is that?”

          “Not fucked up at all if he tried to stab you in the head, kid.”

          “I’m a coward,” Taehyung chokes. “Everything I can stand about myself my father taught me, and I fucking left him. The art and the books and the history. I wouldn’t know shit about Witchers or Magic without him. Probably would’ve grown up a close-minded psychopath like my brother. Probably would’ve tried to run you out of town, Jimin.”

          The Witch’s features twist with confusion. “Your brother wasn’t into magic?”

          “No, he hated that shit.”

          “Your father didn’t try to teach him, like you?”

          “Not that I ever saw,” Taehyung says. “Bogum was always the farm and I was always –”

          “The magic.”

          Taehyung’s eyes lock on Jimin, his tone giving answers that the artist can’t decipher. “What are you trying to say, Jimin?”

          The Witch rubs his lips together. “There are many forms of Magic in this world,” he explains. “Some of it rare and some of it not. The kind that I wield and the kind that you see of the Witchers, for example. Some magic is born, and some magic is made; some is learnt and some is grown; some forms are inherited, passed down from father to son… and some magic, is stolen – taken from where it truly belongs, and perverted.”

          “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Yoongi breathes.

          Taehyung shakes his head. “I’m not following.”

          “He’s saying that your father was grooming you to inherit the Family Magic, and somehow your slimy brother got his filthy hands on it instead and stole it from you.”

          “That’s –”

          Taehyung opens his mouth to say ‘ridiculous’, but nothing comes out. He’d loved his father, but he’d always known he was a strange sort of man. If Taehyung was living in another world, then his father was in another reality: always muttering to himself, whispering under his breath, drawing strange symbols in Taehyung’s books that the artist would trace over-and-over, just because he liked the shapes.

          In hindsight, they looked oddly like runes.

          “Why would he let me leave?” Taehyung asks. “Why would he let me go, if I had this massive inheritance?”

          “You said he was good to you, Tae. He loved you, obviously. If your brother is as he was, he probably tried to shield you,” Jimin suggests gently.

          “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

          “In some disciplines it isn’t allowed. Envoys and Watchers. These are inherited forms. Age can sometimes be a factor, but generally the magic isn’t passed forward until death. It’s a sort of initiation, or, rite of passage. You would be inducted into your family’s Order. There would be a celebration. A long time ago the elder would perform a ritualised suicide: magic as a gift to the new generation, bought at the ultimate price. Nowadays things are different. We’re… a lot less dramatic than we used to be. Besides, this type of magic is also _super_ rare.”

          “I’ve never heard of it,” Yoongi says. “Should I have?”

          Jimin shakes his head. “I’d be surprised if Taehyung’s mother even knew.”

          “Begs the question: how did your evil-incarnate brother find out.”

          Taehyung shakes his head. “Why are we talking about this like it’s a sure thing? You guys don’t know anything about me, or about my family, or about my father! This is just, fucking, convenient for you! Shit hits the fan and blame the fucking Kims, just like always! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

          “Taehyung, no one’s blaming you or your family for anything. Sure, we’ve got no proof – but this makes sense, doesn’t it?” Jimin steps towards him, and Taehyung can’t scramble backwards without physically climbing on top of an injured Jeongguk. “Tae – you’ve always been drawn to me, haven’t you? When the whole fucking town collectively sneered, you came to me. You wanted to know me.”

          “That’s because my father always told me about mag –”

          “Magic,” Jimin says, “that’s right. Doesn’t it make sense? Couldn’t it be true?”

          The artist shakes his head. It’s all too fucking much. It’s like watching a documentary about outer-space and being so overwhelmed by the vastness of it all that it just becomes frightening. It’s like a conspiracy theory playing out on National Television, except he’s the Nation and the conspiracy is _family_. Him. _His father_.

          And Bogum. That’s it – the core – he is and always has been the root of Taehyung’s fear. His greatest nightmare. That one monster of his childhood that he could never leave in fable. Bogum terrifies him in a way that makes him want to shake Jeongguk awake because he can’t hold him in his arms when he’s in a fucking coma, and that’s what he needs right now. More than anything.

          He looks back at Jeongguk. He could be dreaming. His round eyes gently closed, lashed fanned, his chocolatey hair clean and soft and shining in the afternoon light that streams through the French doors on the opposite side of the room.

          If he could just open his eyes. Just for a minute – for a second. That’s all Taehyung needs. The quiet reassurance of his gaze. Anything. Just a whisper. Just a twitch of his cheek so that Taehyung knows he’s in there, listening, protecting him, looking out for him. Caring about him, because now that his Father’s gone, maybe the young Witcher is the only one in the world.

          Taehyung is selfish.

          He’s so fucking selfish.

          Jeongguk needs to heal and all Taehyung wants is to take. He doesn’t deserve him. He deserves someone cold and calculated. Someone who’ll sell him out – betray him. Embarrass and hurt him because he’s weak and a coward and all these hideous, filthy, lonely things that his brother made him.

          He’s scared. He’s so scared and all he wants is Jeongguk to forgive every ugly part of him and want him anyway.

          That realization is more terrifying than his brother ever was, maybe.  

          He’s scared.

          Jeongguk doesn’t budge, and he’s so fucking scared.

          So Taehyung does what Taehyung does best.

          Taehyung runs – Jimin and Yoongi calling out in his wake.

[Twitter](https://twitter.com/Mussells1)


	4. Fate is a Black Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic Language, Violence, Sexy Time - don't say I didn't warn you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jungkook voice* It's... been a while.
> 
> I've been in such a rut (and not the sexy kind). I think I'm on the flip side now, though. So hopefully it won't be so long before the next chapter. I think we only have two left? Maybe? And an epilogue? 
> 
> I fucked up and changed the spelling of Jungkook's name halfway through so sue me.
> 
> There's not a lot of forward momentum in this, but I wanted our characters to have some time together and get comfortable with new dynamics before we move on. The rest should be pretty action packed. Not sure what you prefer? 
> 
> Anyway, that's enough from me. Enjoy! Leave me some saucy comments, or hit me up on twitter. I love it when y'all leave comments and hit me up on twitter. 
> 
> P.S I got bored editing so it might be riddled with shitty grammar, typos, and the misuse of there, they're and their. I know what they all mean but my brain just short circuits sometimes... I blame Taekook for this.

 

Over the next few weeks, Taehyung’s life becomes a waiting game.

          Jimin and Yoongi all but disappear. Every morning he stands at the perimeter of Jeongguk’s bedroom and never enters; he waits for Bogum to come and finish him off before he reminds himself that his brother’s dead and never coming back.

          He’s taken to standing outside of his father’s office as well, nose near pressed to the ornate wood. It isn’t locked, he’s just too scared to enter. Has been since the day he got home, and it’s worse now, because there could be answers behind that door.

          His cowardice is as problematic as ever. He keeps waiting to wake up and feel different, but he never does. He keeps waiting for inspiration to strike. He keeps waiting for the tickle at the back of his neck to rescind, away to nothing.

          Taehyung’s days become nothing more than routine. He wakes up, showers, brushes his teeth – drinks coffee even though the toothpaste and the milk are an awful mix that has him gagging before the end of his cup. But it’s all he can do – he wakes up with a bad taste in his mouth and spearmint toothpaste seems to be the only cure.

          He peruses the farm, signs papers, pulls weeds from his father’s private veggie patch. He has lunch – or, at least, he tries to; mostly he just stares down at his food, pushes bright-orange sweet potato around his plate with a far off expression, before discarding it all together.

          He’s too sick to eat.  

          He drinks more coffee which he hates. Everything tastes acrid. He sits in his studio but his hands feel arthritic. He wastes a lot of perfectly good clay in those weeks. Loses a lot of perfectly good weight. Finds it difficult to see any purpose beyond laying in bed, staring up at his ceiling fan, wondering what the fuck he’s gonna do with himself when…

          When what?

          When Jeongguk wakes up? When his brother finally comes for him? When the Witch and the Witcher realise that there is no Bogum – that this is all an elaborate ruse; when Taehyung proves himself to be as substandard and ordinary as he knows that he is, as he always has been.

          The joke is that Taehyung would often get lost in daytime dreams where he wielded the kind of power Jimin thinks his brother stole from him. He imagined fighting monsters, and saving maidens; being a hero and a leader and everything that he didn’t have the strength to become because his brother starved him as a child – turned him into a fucking runt.

          Bogum was always handsome. Tall, with a deep voice, though soft spoken. He had a smile that gave the girls giggles; shiny raven hair and a glint in his eye that was mysterious and exciting – like no one could quite figure him out.

          The problem _was_ that Bogum’s secret glint was trying to drown Taehyung in the pond behind the sugar-cane; throwing rocks at Taehyung as he hid in the dirt; beating Taehyung with an empty oil-canaster; telling Taehyung he was nothing – messing with his mind until there wasn’t anything left but Bogum’s ugly words in a battle between what Taehyung always thought he knew, and what his brother beat into him over the years.

          It’s funny how old wounds fester. He’d gone to college and made friends – been chased by men and women who admired him for his beauty and his heart and his talent. Taehyung had _talent._ That’s what his professors had told him. Taehyung had a _future_ because he had _talent_. Because he was _special_.

Funny how none of that matters. Funny how none of that speaks louder than his dead brother’s words.

Taehyung runs a hand across his face, eyes out the kitchen window, though he isn’t looking at anything. Out of faze with the world around him he sips tentatively on a mug filled with water that still tastes mildly of bitter espresso. He’s waiting, as usual. Waiting for the sun to go down so he can push more food around his plate, shower for the second time today, sit in his studio – do nothing – until he’s tired enough to pack it all in, crawl into his ostentatiously large king-bed and fall into an uneasy slumber that has him feeling more tired when the sun rises than when it sets.

He follows this routine with ease. Takes a small detour in stopping by Jeongguk’s room on the way to his own. He can smell Jimin’s sugary-scent in the air even though he’s long gone. He tries not to be hurt that the Witch made no attempt to talk to him. Realistically he knows that Jimin gave it his best shot for the first week; Taehyung must’ve been pretty convincing when he’d told the other to ‘ _get the fuck out of my face, Jimin!’_ because it’d put an end to the Witch’s incessant _‘hey, are you okay?’s_ which made his skin positively _crawl_ with irritation.

Because he wasn’t okay. How could he be? With the way he grew up; with everything happening now? Taehyung was not equipped. Taehyung _is_ not equipped. Which is why as his head hits the pillow he chokes on the same uncried tears he’s been swallowing for weeks. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because there’s room enough in his bed for two, and Taehyung didn’t realize it was something that he wanted until he saw Jeongguk’s body, unmoving, still.

Still.

Twenty-six days, and _still_ nothing.

He really tries his best to sleep. Tosses and turns – counts sheep. Tries to stay focused; lets his mind wander, but nothing works. He’s cold and he adjusts the air-conditioning but it doesn’t help at all. He just shivers, works himself into a panic because there’s a monster under his bed, and that monster has always been Bogum, and now Bogum might be alive.

Even though he couldn’t be.

_He can’t be._

_He’s gone._

_He’s gone, right?_

Before he has a chance to stop himself – before he realises what he’s doing – Taehyung crawls into Jeongguk’s bed, curling carefully into his side, head against that familiarly hard shoulder. In this position, the artist can hear the Witcher’s heart. It’s comforting because he’s always been so still, like this; you couldn’t even see him breathing unless you came up real close, and Taehyung’s been too afraid – something about his own shitty energy perverting Jeongguk’s body when he needed to heal.

But this – this feels nice. This feels safe – safer than he’s felt in so many days. He isn’t sure why; it’s not like Jeongguk can get up and protect him. If anything, he’d have to protect Jeongguk. So, maybe that’s why. Curling protectively over his injured friend makes him feel brave, because he knows he’d take a bullet, or fangs, or a sword, or anything for the amber-eyed boy. He would’ve given his own foot, if he’d had to.

He must fall into a semi-lucid-dream because soon enough there’s fingers in his hair, carding gently through the silky strands; there’s lips against his crown and a kiss put to his temple and Taehyung starts to cry uncontrollably because he hasn’t had such a nice dream in such a long, long time.

Usually Taehyung has nightmares. About his father dying; about Bogum. Sometimes Taehyung closes his eyes at night and relives every trauma he’s ever experienced in his twenty-five years of life. Some manageable, some not; some still having him wake up, sheet logged with sweat, voice hoarse from yelling into his pillow.

Jeongguk starts to sing.

Jeongguk starts to sing and it’s such a clean and pretty sound. Taehyung doesn’t dare lift his head from the Witcher’s shoulder in fear that he might disturb his dreaming. He doesn’t jostle, just fists at the silky material of Jeongguk’s shirt, cries into the skin of his neck three weeks of unshed tears. Three weeks of stress and worry and terror. Three weeks of missing him in a way Taehyung didn’t believe possible.

Three weeks of falling more and more in love with someone he knows he’ll never deserve.

That sucked. That really, really sucked. Taehyung’s never loved someone unselfishly before. What could Jeongguk do? Comatose Jeongguk lying still in his guest bedroom? Taehyung stood in his doorway and fell in love with a frozen Jeongguk. Only his body was there, but the essence of him came alive in Taehyung’s memory, and the artist wanted to smack his head against a wall for not realizing it sooner.

Jeongguk could die, he realized. Or Jeongguk could wake up and leave him. Jeongguk could love him in return, or grow to hate him over time. Jeongguk could blame him for all the harm he’s caused – for all the ways he’s been in danger because of Taehyung’s recklessness.

Jeongguk could forget him. Jeongguk could hate him.

None of it mattered. Taehyung would just continue as is. Because when you love someone like Jeongguk it’s kind of like a brand against your bones. You don’t just turn away.

Taehyung understands this. Maybe that’s why it took him so fucking long to adjust.

Jeongguk sings the prettiest song Taehyung thinks he’s ever heard; it’s enough to neutralize the acidic memories of his brother, his dead father – all the silly, stupid shit he’s ever done out of cowardice or selfishness or _whatever_.

That hand inside his hair, arm curled around his waist is enough to fight that terrible chill. Soon enough Taehyung’s sobs diminish into little hiccups that turn to tiny, stilted gulps of air until he’s finally breathing normally. His eyelids are heavy, lashes whispering against Jeongguk’s neck.

Lips press into his crown, quiet words whispered that he can’t make out because this dream is fading and Taehyung hasn’t slept well in literal months. Jeongguk might not be awake, but at least his body is home in a way that the artist hasn’t known… ever.

He could hold it. He could. He wants to, but he doesn’t. Instead he lets it all go, lets the sound of Jeongguk’s rhythmic heartbeat take him away, guide him past those darkened dreams, right through ‘til morning.

* * *

 

“He’s exhausted, let him sleep,” Jeongguk growls shoving Yoongi’s hand from Taehyung’s shoulder.

The kid curls further into the young Witcher’s side, lips parting against his neck and it looks so domestic that something hideously affectionate and parental lurches inside Yoongi’s chest; he has to physically restrain himself from cooing.

It’s _awful_.

“He hasn’t been sleeping,” Jimin sighs. “Hasn’t been doing anything, really. I’ve been watching him, though he didn’t wanna see me.”

Jeongguk pouts, curls protectively over Taehyung’s sleeping form. “He was so upset last night. I don’t think he even realised I was awake. He just cried and cried. I’ve never heard anybody cry that much. It broke my heart, hyung.”

“It’s been a stressful few weeks,” Yoongi breathes, presses his lips into a fine line. “Jimin and I ‘ve been doing some research – see if we can’t figure this whole thing out.”

“Any luck?”

“Nada.” Yoongi shakes his head. “We’re trying to get to the mayor but he’s been refusing to see us. Not, publicly, of course,” the Witcher clarifies when Jeongguk’s face twists oddly. “His assistant said he’s scheduled until next month. Realistically though,” he huffs, “how much fucking work can you possible have in a town like this?”

“If it walks like a cunt, talks like a cunt,” Jimin seethes.

“Exactly.” Yoongi shakes his head, reaches out to brush a lock of hair from Taehyung’s lashes.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up at Jeongguk, smiles sheepishly, and retracks his hand.

“Are you for real, hyung?”

“Look he’s growing on me, okay? He’s been through a lot. More than most.” The Witcher looks between them, the sleeping boy and his own son, then across to Jimin, and back again. “Some of the fucked up shit his brother did…” He shakes his head. “I’m surprised he’s still around to be the annoying, pain-in-the-ass that he is.”

“I always knew he was special,” Jeongguk sighs.

“I always knew you were whipped,” Yoongi gags, but his inner parent yells, once again, and does an odd little jig, sets off streamers behind his eyes.

“I’m worried about him. He’s a lot of things, but he’s always had such a gentle heart. I knew his brother was an ass but I had no idea how far it really went.” Jimin worries his lip. “I wasn’t expecting his reaction, when we told him. I didn’t think he’d spiral like this.”

“Told him what?” Jeongguk asks, eyes flashing between Witch and Witcher.

“Bogum,” Yoongi explains. “His brother. Jimin thinks he’s alive. That’s why Taehyung wigged out like that in the sewers. Bogum was communicating with him. Magically.”

“Magically? How’s that possible?”

Jimin answers. “I think Taehyung comes from a family of Witches. Paternal. I think his father was grooming him to inherit the Family Magic, but Bogum stole it somehow. Taehyung was supposed to have it, and he never even knew.”

“Like, Envoys, or Guardians?”

“See,” Yoongi calls. “How does Jeongguk know?!”

Taehyung shuffles at the noise and the youngest sends an irritated glare in his father’s direction. “I actually read the Witcher Learning Syllabus, unlike some people,” he whispers. Turning to Jimin, his face goes hard. “Is he in danger?”

The Witch scrunches his mouth to one side, considering. “Bogum – if it is Bogum – could’ve killed him down there. But he didn’t. It’s like, he wanted to take him. Not hurt him. Just… take him.”

“Then why hasn’t he come?”

“Well, Taehyung could be right. Maybe there is no Bogum. Maybe it’s just a mistake.”

“But you don’t think so,” Jeongguk comments.

“No,” Jimin nods slowly. “If I had to guess, I’d say he has no way out of the sewers. Out of that structure.”

“Couldn’t he ‘ve just portalled out?”

The Witch shrugs. “Maybe – maybe not. Like I explained to Tae when you were busy  growing your bones back: there’s all different kinds of magic. All different rules and laws and matrices. Without speaking to someone who _knows,_ I couldn’t even begin to guess what discipline he belongs to. It’d be like searching for a needle in a haystack, if I wasn’t _oddly_ excellent at that.”

Yoongi grins, even the corner of Jeongguk’s lips quirk, though he’s too busy  gazing down at a dozing Taehyung, whose lashes flutter against the bare skin of his neck.

“So what do we do, then?” Jeongguk asks eventually, still speaking low. “If Taehyung’s in danger, then I can’t just turn a blind eye. I have to make him safe, again. I have to do someth –”

Yoongi shakes his head. “ _You_ do nothing.” He motions towards the two youngest. “You get your body right; he gets his head sorted. You both stay out of trouble in the meantime. _We_ ,” the Witcher points between himself and Jimin, “are gonna go speak to the mayor.”

“I thought he wouldn’t see you?”

“He won’t have a choice.”

* * *

 

 

It’s been a long time since Yoongi’s used the Axii sign – tends to think it’s something of a violation in the way it that it hypnotises, leaves the recipient open to… instruction (see: manipulation). He’s experienced it himself, once, as a young-boy before he underwent the Trials. An odd experience: his teacher had flashed his fingers in front of his eyes and all of a sudden Yoongi didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to eat the rhinoceros beetle crawling through the dirt in front of him.

          He still can’t quite grasp what emplored him to shovel it hungrily into his mouth like an original-glazed donut; it took him days to get all the fragments out of his teeth.

          Since then, he’s always been mindful. There’s no form of magic more perverse than the kind that delves deep and alters mentally. Yoongi’d been ready to lynch Taehyung after the incident in the sewers until Jimin let him know that something more sinister was at play.

          That’s why, despite the subsequent abandonment of morals, Yoongi and Jimin breeze into the Mayor’s office and Axii his receptionist without a second thought. She falls quiet, dazed expression, eyes clouded and unable to focus, as if something far off in the distance catches her attention though she can’t quite make out what it is.

          “Don’t let anyone in after us,” Yoongi says, steady.

          “I won’t let anyone in after you.” Her voice is low, attention diverted; she repeats Yoongi’s instructions almost word for word. Then, as if there was no exchange at all, she turns to her paleolithic computer, losing quickly a round of mind-sweeper, right in front of the Witcher’s eyes.

          “Creepy,” Jimin comments.  

          “As if you couldn’t do worse.”

          Jimin shrugs innocently and Yoongi rolls his eyes.

          In the next minute they’re bursting through the rickety door of the Mayor’s personal office. At first he doesn’t even look up, just continues to scroll through the only technologically viable smart phone Yoongi’s seen since they arrived in the town. Eventually, their heavy footfalls seem to rouse him to consciousness, because he glances towards them, pushes up from his chair with a huff, and opens his mouth to yell some spluttery words of contempt in their direction.

          He doesn’t have enough time – Jimin’s already on him, hands clasped around his fat, reddening cheeks, bringing the man’s gaze downward onto his level. Eye to eye like this, Jimin whispers words that Yoongi can’t make out: he can hear them alright, but they’re in a language he doesn’t recognize – assumes it’s some kind of ancient spell from Jimin’s family grimoire.

          Not moments later it's confirmed, when the mayor falls back into his chair in a daze, his eyes rolleing into his head, body taught, fingers curling and cracking uncomfortably. Yoongi looks towards Jimin, furrows his own brow when he finds the Witch visibly struggling.

          “What’s up?” He asks.

          “He’s surprisingly resilient,” Jimin huffs. “Either that, or I’m being countered. I can’t tell. Better make it quick, though. Not sure how long I can keep this up, and your sign definitely wont be effective.”

          Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest. “The sewers,” he says. “What’s down there.”

          The mayor chokes, wheezes, his face turning an odd shade of purple “I don’t know.”

          “Liar!”

          “No,” Jimin shakes his head. “That’s the truth. Just not all of it.” He grits his teeth. “The Kim family. Are you aware of their magical lineage?”

          “Yes,”

          “How?”

          “The eldest son,” The mayor grits. “He came to us.”

          “Who’s _‘us’,”_ Yoongi questions.

          “The council.”

          The Witcher rolls his eyes. “The council. Of course.”

          “What did he tell you?”

          “Said he’d uncovered something. A secret that would change our lives. Something hidden by his family for generations,” the mayor explains. “He couldn’t access it though. It was protected, by his father. The head of the Kim household always seemed like a fool, but he was no joke. We tried to take the land – before – thought we’d go through with it right under his nose.”

          “But he wasn’t stupid, was he?”

          “No,” the mayor’s face contorts, his chubby claws scraping into the antique wood of his office chair. “Time and time again – he made us look like fools.”

          Yoongi shakes his head. “So what, then? What did that Bogum kid want from you?”        

          Jimin takes a step forward, curls his fists in on themselves in concentration. The mayor clenches his jaw. “Permission,” he says.

          “Permission for what?”

          “To kill his father.”

          “Fuck.” Yoongi turns his head towards the ceiling, exhales into the air as a flash of Taehyung’s twisted face blips into his mind without warning. He shakes his head – as if the kid didn’t have enough to deal with: to find out that his own brother murdered his father for reasons unknown… he wasn’t entirely aware of the younger’s state of mind, all the same, figures this might be too much. “And you gave it, I suppose?”      

          The mayor twitches. “Yes,” he confirms. “ We had no part in it ourselves, but we covered it up. Facilitated. His offer was… too good to pass up.”

          “And what was his offer?” Jimin asks, visibly sweating now.

          “Said he had a contact. Someone who could bring wealth to the town – enough to keep us going for a millennium.” The mayor laughs. “This is a new world,” he says. “Farming settlements like ours are on the way out. Doesn’t matter what we do. Doesn’t matter how many people in the city wanna eat organic potatoes. This place is dying – the population aging – we won’t survive the decade.”

          “Frankly don’t give a shit,” Yoongi seethes.

          Jimin purses his lips. “Who was his contact, do you know?”

          The mayor shakes his head with a jerk. “He never told us. Whenever he spoke about them, it was with a sort of… reverence. Like he was some kind of disciple. It frightened some on the council but, the rewards outweighed the risk – least it felt that way at the time. Fuck all good it did. Bogum barely lasted two weeks. We went to all the trouble to deal with his father and then he just… disappeared. Haven’t heard from him si –”

          “Wait, what?” Yoongi frowns, interrupting. “You say he _disappeared_. As in, you never found his body?”

          The mayor grunts in affirmation.

          “So that story you told Taehyung – about finding his shredded corpse – that was all bullshit?”

          “Couldn’t have him snooping,” the mayor admits. “That little faggot considers himself a modern-day Nancy Drew.”

          Yoongi doesn’t give himself time to consider, he just steps up in front of the mayor and clocks him right in the face. The subsequent ‘crack’ of his shattered nose is more satisfying than a hot shower after a long day; blood leaks crimson down his face, though he can’t lift his hands to wipe it away. Then it’s dribbling across his lips and his chin, soaking into his cheap dress shirt.

          What a work of art. Yoongi smirks to himself.

          “Youch, even I felt that,” Jimin whines.

          “Sorry.”

          “It’s fine – maybe give me a little warning next time, yeah?”

          The Witcher smiles. “Easy done.”

          “You fucker!”

          The pair turn back towards the mayor, Jimin with gritted teeth, Yoongi with a passive expression that gives away none of his inner turmoil. He’d come here in search of monsters. Sometimes, rural settlements experience a surge: mating season, or good weather – bad weather, even. Often there’s a reason, and often there’s not. It’s messy work – it always is, cleaning up – but it’s do-able; it pays well.

          This. This is complicated. Yoongi could sense it in the air on that very first day, riding into Dawnside; he’d shaken it off, ignored the instincts that rarely ever failed him. The further along The Path they traversed, the more the Witcher came to realise the rotted nature of this place. But he never expected a conspiracy – that’s what this was shaping up to be.

          On the other hand, though, after what he’d seen down in the sewers – what the mayor swore, truthfully, that he knew nothing about – it seemed almost worse than imagined. What is a conspiracy, when the conspiracy hides some greater evil, lurking, that not even the conspirators know about? Yoongi had no proof but at this stage he could almost _feel_ the eyes on the back of his neck. And it wasn’t the mayor. It wasn’t the so called ‘council’. It’s something else. Something frightening and far more sinister than a room full of old, fat, money-hungry country hicks could dream up in their worst nightmares.

          Still, there was Bogum. Is he really dead? What exactly is his involvement? Does he belong to the human conspirators or the ‘something-else’. It’s hard to catalogue where this starts and ends, for the Witcher. There are answers here, but no more than all the questions that circle around his silver head.

          Yoongi has a thought. “The monsters,” he says. “When did they arrive again?”

          “In September.”

          “And when did Bogum disappear?”

          The mayor pauses. “September.”

          Jimin swallows. “You think he did it?”

          “If not him, then his so called ‘contact’,” the Witcher nods.

          “Why?”

          “Who knows. To build that structure, maybe? If he suddenly had all this magic, and no clue what to do with it, it could’ve been as simple as a fucking accident.” Yoongi rubs his hands across his face and through his hair. “There’s so much we don’t know,” he growls. “It’s like we’re putting together a thousand piece puzzle without knowing what the damn picture is, _and_ we’re missing six hundred of the parts.” He looks across at the mayor with disdain. “Not that this asshole’s been much help.”

          “And I don’t think he’ll be any more,” Jimin huffs. “If I try to hold this truth spell any longer I’ll break his mind wide open. I have to release him.”

          For  a minute, Yoongi considers he deserves it. To be honest, though, he’s got enough on his plate – he’ll leave judgement to the Gods.

          “Fine,” he sighs. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

          Jimin releases the mayor. There’s just enough time to see his watery eyes roll back into position before his whole body falls slack and he plants, face first, into the table.

          “Youch, his nose is gonna be fucked,” Jimin laughs.

          “No better than he deserves.”

          The pair slink out of the office, Yoongi’s mind running a mile a minute. Jimin’s arm is wrapped securely around his shoulders, grounding him, for whatever that’s worth.

          He’d had a plan: that plan had been to _deal with the monsters_. Now, he fears he’s in too deep. This all feels too big. He doesn’t particularly care about the town if he’s honest but he can’t ignore the connection between Jungkook and Taehyung. Taehyung’s involvement in all this is, at this stage, unquestionably paramount – especially if his brother’s lurking out there somewhere. It’s starting to sound more and more like he is.

          So if Taehyung’s in danger, and Jungkook will protect Taehyung with his life; if Jimin has finally found a place to settle down, safe, out of the reach of the Witch hunters… then Yoongi has no choice. He has to figure this out, if only to protect his small circle.

          He sighs.

          Jimin kisses his temple. “Come on, love. Let’s go back to the cabin – cup of tea, dinner, a good night’s sleep. We’ll deal with this tomorrow – together.”

          Yoongi looks across at the Witch, heart a little lighter at Jimin’s words. “Alright, love.”

          As they step out of the entry way, the receptionist perks up. “I won’t let anyone in after you.”

          “Thanks Linda,” Jimin laughs.

          The pair set off, golden-hour hot on their heels.

* * *

Taehyung presses his forehead against the textured wood of his father’s office, breathes in, lays his palms flat on either side of his face. This is a new ritual. Taehyung makes plans to do something and then doesn’t follow through. Realistically, he’s been doing that all his life. So maybe it isn’t a new ritual – maybe it’s an old one, taking on new form.

          He bangs his head against the wood – a few times for good measure – curses himself for being a relatively useless human being. It’s already late afternoon; he’d woken up with a puffy face, a stuffy nose, all curled up in Jeongguk’s arms. The other had been asleep – still – he isn’t sure how he managed to manoeuvre himself into that position: either way, audience or no, it was embarrassing. Taehyung had untangled himself gently, pressed the covers snuggly around the younger’s sleeping form, and snuck out of the room like nothing ever happened.

          Nothing _did_ happen. Except for Taehyung crying his eyes out, falling into a nightmare-less slumber for the first time in almost two months. It felt good to be beside the other man, skin-to-skin with Jungkook. Maybe it was wrong for Taehyung to anchor himself to the other; either way, it happened. Taehyung’s brain capacity wasn’t particularly large to begin with, and these days he committed approximately 93% of it to Jeon Jungkook.

          He bangs his head against the wood again – this time, a little firmer.  
          “Tae?”

          Great, now he’s hallucinating his _voice_ as well. It was okay last night when he was half asleep and crying, but now, the day almost over, he’s got no excuse. He lets out two rather long breaths which ricochet off the wood in front of him and back onto his own skin.

He bangs his head against the door for the third time.

          “Tae? What are you doing?”

          _Okay,_ he thinks, _now he sounds even –_

            He turns his head towards the voice and almost topples over. Jungkook is _standing,_ hair fluffy and mussed from sleep; he squints into the hallway against the afternoon light, towards Taehyung, his forehead creased deeply, skin a little red with the scars of his pillowcase. He’s wearing an oversized black shirt – the collar falls across his shoulder, askew, exposing a prominent chest and a long, straight collarbone.

          He’s awake.

          Taehyung realizes all at once.

          Jungkook’s awake.

 _Jungkook’s_ ** _awake_** ** _._**  

            “Jungkook!” He cries, pushes away from the door with all the finesse of a land-bound walrus. He stumbles across the worn carpet of the corridor, arms outstretched, a pathetic expression plastered across his face that is something between a stubbed toe, a sore stomach, and pure, unadulterated glee.

          He tries his best not to slam into the other boy, what with him being injured and all. Either way, when his own body makes contact with Jungkook’s, the Witcher reaches out, wraps an arm around the door and Taehyung’s waist to stabilize them.

          “Jungkook!” He cries against his neck, hands fluttering at all parts of the other he can reach. He pulls away, grasps at his neck and his cheeks, scrunching the soft skin there until Jungkook’s lips pucker cutely. He leans forward, fully intends to kiss the other right on the mouth, only manages to divert at the last second, pressing two, three, four wet kisses to either side of the Witcher’s face.

          “ _Tae,”_ Jungkook huffs, squirming slightly, though he doesn’t sound entirely displeased.

          “You’re awake,” Taehyung laughs, tearing up, completely unable to stop himself. “You’re awake, I can’t believe it.” He chokes, lets his forehead drop into Jungkook’s familiar shoulder where he breathes in the younger’s scent. It’s a little different than usual. He smells like Jimin’s magic and Taehyung’s fabric softener. “When d-did you wake up?”

But he still smells like home.

          “Um, just – just now,” Jungkook stutters, and then, “oh Tae,” he laughs, giving the older boy a little squeeze. “Please don’t cry. Look,” he pushes against him until they’re face to face, practically nose to nose in their proximity. “I’m doing just fine,” he smiles with enough affection to make Taehyung’s whole heart short circuit and stutter violently inside his chest. “Don’t cry,” Jungkook repeats softly, his bottom lip pushing out in a pout as he wipes away Taehyung’s tears with coarse fingers pressed softly into his cheeks.

          “S-sorry,” Taehyung sniffles, wipes his nose against his arm like a five-year-old. “Sorry I just – you have no i-idea how worried I’ve been.”

          “Well, growing back a foot _is_ sticky business,” Jungkook laughs.

          Taehyung jolts. “Your foot!” He yells, arms wiggling around the Witcher frantically. “Your foot, Kook, you shouldn’t be _standing_.” He tries to manoeuvre himself under the younger’s arm in an attempt to take some of his weight; the Witcher shrugs him off with a laugh.

          “I’m _fine_ ,” he shakes his head. “I’ve been lying in that damn bed for Gods knows how long. I can feel my muscles atrophy.”

          “Jungkook you almost _died_ ,” Taehyung huffs, arms already reaching back underneath the younger’s armpits in another futile attempt to take the weight off his foot. The Witcher yelps, pulls free with a little hiss. “Oh my Gods,” Taehyung cries, wrenching back. “Did I hurt you?”

          “No,” Jungkook laughs him off, color flooding his cheeks. “I’m just – ticklish there.” He crosses his hands over his chest modestly.

          “Fuck,” Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, places a free palm against his heart. “I almost went into cardiac arrest just now, Kook.”

          “Well stop being such a mother hen, Tae.” He shakes his head, touches Taehyung’s cheek with his fingers in a caress that is way too intimate considering the pair are just _friends_. The artist doesn’t dodge out of the way, though, he lets Jungkook stroke his cheek with an amused and affectionate expression before he withdraws his hand, lets it fall to his side as if it were nothing at all, as if it doesn’t have Taehyung’s heart racing full speed ahead inside the cavity of his chest. “You know what I am, though?” Jungkook says, scratching against his belly. “Starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in –”

          “Three weeks.”

          The Witcher’s brows shoot to his hairline. “Three weeks?” He gasps when Taehyung nods solemnly. “Has it really been that long?”

          “It was awful,” the older boy admits. “I don’t think I slept a wink.”

          Jungkook watches Taehyung, concern clouding his amber eyes. “I’m sorry.”

          Taehyung balks. “Why are _you_ sorry.” He steps towards the Witcher, takes a move out of the other’s play book and presses a palm to Jungkook’s neck.

          He likes it. Taehyung can tell. Things are getting scary between then; he can feel that shift; he can see it in the younger’s amber eyes and he wonders whether it’s mirrored in his own. Maybe it, maybe it isn’t  – either way, every time he looks at Jungkook his whole heart starts screaming things he isn’t prepared to hear; his brain yells back in a language his heart doesn’t understand because it _just keeps pushing_.

          Jungkook is easily the most beautiful creature Taehyung has ever seen, he notes. He feels idiotic for painting the older Witcher because Jungkook – with his wide, round eyes, the contrasting sharpness of his jaw – is everything an artist could ever want. It’s everything a person could ever want.

          It’s everything Taehyung could ever want.

          It’s hard to build an imaginary life with someone; Taehyung starts to think that’s maybe what he’s doing. He feels himself fall into a daydream – the kind he’s been using for the past almost-month just to fucking _stay alive_. Jungkook in the morning, hair in all different directions,  soft between his silky sheets. Jungkook over breakfast, kissing the syrup from his lips. Jungkook in the garden, skin taking on the colours of the sun. Jungkook’s arms around him as the sun goes down. Jungkook’s body intertwined with his own, skin-to-skin, fingers digging into the flesh around his arms and his hips, lips everywhere. Jungkook inside him, him inside Jungko –

          The Witcher’s stomach rumbles – loud. Taehyung withdraws and Jungkook laughs uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” he says.

          “You’re starving.” Taehyung pouts because – once again – he allowed himself to get carried away when Jungkook – living breathing Jungkook – is right in front of him.

          “What time is it?”

          “Late afternoon. But there’s dinner downstairs. I can bring it up or –”

          “No,” Jungkook shakes his head, the corner of his lips turning downward. “I really don’t wanna stay in here. I need some fresh air.”

          “Okay,” Taehyung says, pushes a lock of Jungkook’s chocolate-y hair away from his eyes just because he’s feeling especially exhausted and he doesn’t have the energy to _not_.

          At least, that’s what he tells himself.

          “Okay,” Taehyung continues. “I think I have some crutches around here somewhere; I could go find those for y –”

          “I don’t need _crutches_ ,” Jungkook splutters. He says that word, ‘crutches’, as if it’s akin to the word ‘moist’: a dirty word that tastes bad in his mouth.

          Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Jungkook you literally didn’t have a foot a week and a half ago. There’s no shame in using some cru –”

          “I don’t need them,” he says resolutely, smiling. “You could carry me.”

          Taehyung throws his head back and laughs. “You want me to carry you? That’s never gonna happen. I can barely keep myself upright, Kook.”

          The Witcher grumbles. “I don’t mean, literally, carry me. Just, help me down the stairs.”

          “I thought you were ticklish?”

          “Just don’t, fucking, grab at me like you were before.”

          “Aw,” Taehyung grins. “But that’s half the fun.”

          Jungkook’s eyes smile before his mouth does (a miracle), but soon enough he’s shooting that toothy grin in Taehyung’s direction; the elder’s smiling back like the idiot that he is, beaming so wide that half his vision is obscured. It’s like he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks, and even though it starting dipping fifteen minutes ago, the warmth of it imbues Taehyung’s skin as Jungkook’s laugh fills up all those empty spaces: inside the room, inside the house – inside Taehyung, himself.

          Jungkook’s stomach rumbles for the second time, and Taehyung giggles, rolls his eyes. “Come on then,” he says, “can’t have you starving to death – not under my roof.”

          He reaches for Jungkook’s arm, careful to avoid his tickly spots even though the temptation is _real_. “No crutches?” Jungkook beams.

          “No crutches, you big baby.”

          Making their way downstairs is easier than Taehyung excepts because, as usual, Jungkook is also stronger than Taehyung assumes. He takes most of his own weight against the wooden hand-rail leaving barely anything for the artist to struggle against. It’s slow, if only because the elder is so careful. Jungkook huffs at him, lurches when Taehyung purposefully pinches underneath his arm.

          Their faces are bowed together, so close that Taehyung could lean in and kiss against the curved bone of the other’s jaw. It takes most, if not all, of his self-restraint to resist. From time to time Jungkook bites against his lower lip and Taehyung’s traitorous body tries to literally _groan_ at the sight.

          He’s acting like a high-schooler again but it feels good. It feels freeing after so many weeks of darkness, to mess around with Jungkook – to watch him hobble back and forth in the kitchen as they takes plates of food out onto the patio to eat in the warm evening air.

          Soon enough they’re sat, knee-to-knee, Jungkook’s injured leg stretched out in front of him, cushioned above three thousand pillows that Taehyung had frantically stacked underneath while Jungkook laughed, head tilted towards the ceiling.

          The elder fills the Witcher in on the last three weeks, though he doesn’t have much to say; he finds that he shares more over dinner with Jungkook than he could with Jimin or Yoongi. He exposes himself, his excitement at the prospect of magic in his family, his fear of his brother and all the things he had done to him as a child.

          Jungkook doesn’t say much during that particular story. He doesn’t have to, really – the way that his hand reaches out to tuck Taehyung’s hair behind his ear, scratch at his nape, rest against his shoulder, is more comforting than words could ever be.

          The artist doesn’t miss the way that the Witcher’s empty palm squeezes tightly into a fist, the way his jaw clenches when he shows Jungkook the white puckered scar on his palm. After that, the younger leaves his neck behind and settles his fingers against the old wound, caressing it gently, sending shivers right up Taehyung’s forearm, across his shoulder and down his spine.

          “I wish I’d been there,” is what the other says, finally, when the artist wraps up his sordid tale. “I would’ve –” he shakes his head, “I would’ve looked after you. I would’ve put your cunt of a brother in his place. I’d never let anyone touch you.”

          Taehyung tries not to preen against the possessiveness in his tone, the fact that Jungkook just called Bogum a _cunt_. “That’s very sweet,” he laughs.

          Jungkook looks across at him, his eyes hard. “It’s not a joke,” he says. “If Bogum’s out there, and if he’s trying to hurt you, or take you, or whatever. I’ll kill him myself.”

          Taehyung gazes across at Jungkook, watches him grumble through a too-large mouthful of apple pie. It’s not as if he wasn’t aware before, but he’s so uncontrollably _fond_ of the younger, and it hits him all at once with all the force of a closed fist to his chest.

          “I missed you,” Taehyung blurts, brushes a crumb away from Jungkook’s bottom lip as he bites into his own. “But please stop putting yourself in danger to save my stupid ass. I’m really not worth it.”

          Jungkook rolls his eyes, runs a free hand through the front of Taehyung’s dark hair. It’s almost disgusting how affected the artist is by every little touch. He finds himself leaning into Jungkook like a puppy chasing cuddles and he wants to slap himself. If the Witcher notices his blatantly love-sick behaviour he says nothing, just continues carding his hands through Taehyungs hair, running his thumb against his cheekbone.

          “I’d do anything for you,” Jungkook says carefully, watching Taehyung with a guarded expression. “I’d do anything you wanted.”

          “I want you to stop putting yourself in harm’s way.”

          “Except that,” Jungkook laughs. “I’m a Witcher, Tae. It’s my job.”

          “Maybe you could find a new job,” Taehyung offers.

          Jungkook laughs. “I’m not really good at anything else.”

          Taehyung purses his lips, decides this is as good a time as any to expose himself. He’s been keeping a secret inside his pocket for all these weeks. It felt silly, he would’ve been too embarrassed to show Jimin, or anyone else for that matter.

          “That’s not true,” Taehyung says. Reaching into the pocket of his sweats he pulls free a folded piece of paper, a little bit crinkled but still entirely intact. He hands it over to Jungkook, watches him expectantly. He has no intention of telling him that he’d grasped this between his fingers and cried over it more than once in the last three weeks. Hopefully there’s no evidence of that – no salty tears tracked across the paper.

          Jungkook pulls at the sheet carefully, and his eyes go wide. Taehyung  makes a mental note of the color of the Witcher’s blush so he can get it right when he paints it later.

          “You kept it,” Jungkook breathes, finger running across the drawing just shy of smudging the charcoal. His amber eyes flash to Taehyung for a brief minute, before he looks away, ears flushing crimson.

          “Of course I kept it,” the artist ducks his head, tries to catch the other’s gaze. “It’s good, Jungkook. It’s really good.” He bites his lip. “You’re better than me, you know?”

          The Witcher shakes his head fervently, eyes wide. “No,” he laughs nervously. “That’s – ha – that’s bullshit.”

          “I mean it,” Taehyung insists. “You… you really captured me – uh – in the eyes. I didn’t realize I was so,” he runs a hand through the back of his hair, “transparent.”

          Jungkook smiles softly, still looking down at his own drawing. “I think you hide from everyone else… but you’re different with me, even though you try not to be.”

          Taehyung bites his bottom lip. “I think you’re the only person in this world that I trust.” He admits it so quietly that if Jungkook were anything but a Witcher, maybe he wouldn’t’ve heard.

          It’s silent for a moment, but eventually the younger takes his hand, intertwines their fingers lightly. “Thank you,” he says. “For trusting me.”

          “How could I not,” Taehyung laughs. He squeezes the Witcher’s hand firmly inside his own, turns to look at the other where they both meet gazes.

          Neither says anything. Taehyung’s heart races inside his chest and he wonders whether Jungkook’s hearing is sensitive enough to pick it up. If it is, he doesn’t say anything, he just smiles at Taehyung and though his eyes burn with that supernatural amber, his gaze is so gentle, so protective.

          Taehyung falls deeper into it. That _thing_ that he can only admit to himself sometimes, and even then it’s hard to even _think_ it, in the privacy of his own mind.  He barely remembers to breathe, only half managing when Jungkook turns away and they sit in silence for what feels like a lifetime, watching the evening sky turn from a dusty blue to red to black.

          It’s a moment that Taehyung can’t deny. It’s almost romantic, they way they sit, hands locked together, neither feeling compelled to break into it with words. The artist’s heart and mind fall into that internal battle once again: the muscle inside his chest says to hold on a never let go, while the organ caged inside his cranium yells that he should pull his hand away, retreat from this while he still can, before he’s in too deep.

          He tries not to sigh out loud. His heart has the upper hand in that it knows they’re already there. They’re already too far gone. Jungkook’s hand is warm and calloused and it envelopes his own so beautifully; it’s almost a guilty pleasure – like chocolate, or ice-cream – in how good it feels when that hand is brushing through his hair, or his nape, or his cheek.

          They sit like that for so long, Taehyung’s almost squirming, practically breathes with a sigh of relief when Jungkook looks across at him, amused.

          “Hey, what were you doing before, in the hallway?”

          Taehyung frowns. Realistically it was only a couple of hours ago, but all the same, like he said, his brain capacity is small, and now that Jungkook’s awake, 93% is probably an understatement. “Huh?”

          The Witcher laughs. “You were banging your head against the door and sighing like you had the world on your shoulders.” When he says this, he reaches across, rubs into the knots at the top of Taehyung’s back with his thumb.

          For a minute, the artist loses his words. “Um,” he stumbles through the fog in his brain, past the feeling of Jungkook’s palm across the bare skin of his back. “It’s my father’s office. I need to go inside and, see if there’s anything… any answers,” he explains. “I was never allowed to go in, before. Nobody was. Now that he’s gone… I should’ve, ages ago. At least sort his stuff out, say – goodbye.” Jungkook pulls gently at the lobe of his ear, it isn’t teasing, or seductive, just affectionate: a reminder that says, _‘I’m here, it’s okay’_. Taehyung continues. “I’ve been trying to psych myself up, but every time my hands at the door I just, can’t go through with it.” He sighs. “I’m such a fucking coward.”

          “You’re not,” Jungkook reassures. When the elder opens his mouth to argue, Jungkook repeats himself. “You’re not, Tae. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t have it easy, back then. Your dad was like your lifeline. If you go in there – it’s a place that was always closed off to you when he was alive. Crossing that line… it must feel like a violation, like admitting he’s really gone. No one wants to accept the loss of a loved one. You’re not a coward, you’re just human.”

          Taehyung laughs, fiddles with the hem of his shirt in his lap. “You really have too high an opinion of me, Kook.”

          “I don’t,” the other argues. “I just see all the things you can’t. Like… how smart you are, how funny you are, how much you crave _knowing things_ and learning. And you’re so talented it takes my breath away. You’re so special –”

          “Please stop.” Taehyung flashes bright red, utters the words in a shaky laugh. “You’re embarrassing me.”

          “Aww,” Jungkook coos, brushes Taehyung’s cheek with his thumb before pulling away. He falls silent for a moment, worries his lip with his two front teeth. “How about – I mean, we don’t have to, but – what if I come with you, into your father’s office? I mean I don’t even have to stay – it might just be easier to get through the door if you have someone with you, y’know? Because it can be kind of intimidating, but once you take that first step then I’m sure you’ll be good, and I can totally leave you a –”

          “Jungkook,” Taehyung turns to him, smiles gently, heart growing about three times the size, expanding so wide that it threatens to burst through his chest. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

          The Witcher exhales, looks towards the sky with an adorably self-congratulatory expression before he turns back to Taehyung. “Okay,” he says quietly. “How about tomorrow?”

          The artist takes a deep breath, and nods. “I don’t know how I’m gonna pay you back for all of this, Kook. I think I’ll be thankful until the day I die.”

          The Witcher flushes, laughs uncomfortably towards his lap. “It’s no big, Tae. Like I said,” he bites his lip, as if he’s not sure he should continue. “I’d do anything for you.”

          Taehyung doesn’t answer; for the first time, his heart almost speaks louder than his mind. Out of habit alone, he seals his lips shut, and closes his eyes.

* * *

“I hate this place,” Yoongi pouts, drops his gun and sword in Jimin’s entryway. The witch grimaces at the sight but says nothing, rounds on the Witcher’s left, wraps his arms all the way around him, chin locked against his shoulder.

          “Don’t be mean to my cabin.”

          “Wasn’t talking about your cabin. Was talking about this stupid fucking town.”

          Jimin hums in agreement. “If it makes you feel any  better it’s not exactly my favourite place either.” The witch kisses him gently right at the base of his ear before letting him go, slipping off his shoes and his shirt, exposing the tattoos that line across his spine and his ribs.

          Yoongi knows this body well. Better than his own, maybe. It’d been too dark that day at the spring to see him clearly; not like now, the soft glow of the cabin illuminates, bathes him in warm orange light and the Witcher can see all of Jimin. The wiry muscles of his arms, his narrow hips and the strength in his core.

          He never thought he’d be the kind of man to get straight up sentimental over such a scene. Jimin in a pair of soft, linen pants, slippers on, naked torso bent over his kitchen stove as he clicks the controls, brings the kettle towards a rolling boil.

          Things often go hand in hand, so perhaps the horrors of this hideous place are counterbalanced by Jimin’s presence here. All the ugliness around them – Jimin’s lips. All the death and decay – Jimin’s smile. All the lies and deceit and pain – Jimin’s touch, still so gentle, after all these years.

          It has him a little choked up.

          “Why are you here?” Yoongi asks gently.

          “I thought that was obvious,” Jimin laughs.

          “Is it the Witch Hunters? How long have you been running?”

          The witch turns, leans against the kitchen counter, brushes a small rose-gold coloured lock of hair out of his eyes. “Practically since we parted.” He explains. “The family wasn’t happy – they knew what I’d done. Tipped off the hunters. Things weren’t so bad back then, if you remember. Legislation on the restriction of magic hadn’t passed. For many years I was good: work wasn’t ideal but it was steady. If I was careful, I could live comfortably. Then, seven – maybe eight – years ago they really knuckled down on the whole deal. Started openly pursuing me. After that, it was tragic. I’ve been on the run since then.”

          “Eight years, Jimin? Why didn’t you come to us? We would’ve protected you.”

          The witch smiles. “Because I’m a prideful, conceited idiot – didn’t we already discuss this?”

          “If it’s life or death, Jimin –”

          “Witches like me can’t die.”

          “You can be _killed_.” Yoongi shoots him a warning glance, runs his hands through his hair in exasperation because even the _thought_ of a scared, hurt, injured Jimin is enough to turn his stomach inside out. Is enough to make him feel uncomfortably queasy.   

          “Nothing happened,” Jimin laughs, scooting across the room to retrieve a decorated ceramic tea-pot and two rounded tea-bags filled with colourful petals. “Here I am. Here you are. No worries.”

          “That’s not the point –”

          “Of course it is. Things go as they’re meant to. You know what it’s like around me. I alter the world just by being in it. If we were meant to be together all those years, we would’ve been. That’s how this works.” Jimin throws the tea-bags into the pot with a little more force than necessary. “Besides, you had Jungkook. You were happy. I don’t see what your problem is –”

          “I would’ve liked to raise him together,” Yoongi admits, watching Jimin.

          The witch stills, turns his face away so the other can’t get a fix on his expression. His shoulders are tight, though, even if it’s just for a second; Yoongi can sense the way he locks up before he manages to shake it off, pretend like he’s less affected than he probably is.

          _Classic Jimin,_ he thinks to himself.

          The witch laughs. “He’s a good boy. Gods know how he would’ve turned out if I was involved.”

          “Maybe he’d have a little more confidence,” Yoongi offers. “He’s so damn shy. He lets people walk all over him.”

          “It’s better than him walking all over others.”

          “Is it?” Yoongi asks

          Jimin turns to him. “I dunno, you tell me?” He’s upset suddenly. Yoongi can’t hear it in his voice, but he can see it in his eyes.

          “Why are you angry?” He asks.

          Jimin laughs him off. “I’m not.”

          “Yes you are.” Yoongi steps closer to him, reaches out tentatively, fingers moving towards his shoulder.

          Jimin steps back into the counter; he angles away, and the Witcher doesn’t know what exactly he’s done to upset him so badly, but the urge to comfort is overwhelming.

He takes another step, maybe he shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t. Jimin’s lip quivers and the ceramic pot beside them explodes, shattering into a million tiny pieces that glance off of Yoongi’s exposed arms, and the walls, and the floor. He feels himself cut in a number of places – not that he cares.

          “Jimin –”

          “Why would you tell me that?” The Witch throws an arm across his face, lets out a number of shaky breathes.

          “Jimin –”

          He runs a hand across his features; when he pulls away his eyes are red even though there’s no tears; Yoongi feels his heart crack ugly inside his chest.  “Do you know how old I am?” Jimin asks, shaking his head. “I can barely remember myself. I have it written down, in a book, in case I forget. One-hundred was a big birthday. Two-hundred, as well. After that, I think I stopped counting. I met you, and I stopped counting, maybe that’s when, honestly.”

          “I don’t understand.” Yoongi watches his lover with concern, holds himself still because if the exploding tea-pot wasn’t enough of an indication, Jimin doesn’t want to be touched right now.

          “These last twenty years have been a little shitty, but nothing too crazy, y’know?” His voice cracks. “I had a great childhood. An incredible adolescence. I’ve felt love from the people around me – passion and excitement. Things were hard sometimes, but that’s unavoidable. I never turned away from those moments.” Jimin looks to Yoongi, right into the Witcher’s eyes, his own now swimming with unshed tears that have the other squirming inside his skin. “I’ve lived a life without regret.” Jimin nods. “Completely free of it. Even when we parted – even after what I did – what I had to do. A life without regret,” he says again. “Until what you’ve told me just now.”

          Yoongi’s heart clenches. “Jimin –”

          “Did  I really need to know that?” He spits.

          “Jimin –”

          “He could’ve been _mine_ ,” he laughs, cold, tears falling over his waterline. “He could’ve been _ours_.”

          “Jimin that’s not what I meant,” Yoongi pleads.

          “I put my eyes on him that first day – I felt something odd,” he says. “I covered it up, said something crude, I think. Can’t remember. I didn’t even know who he was to you, exactly, but I felt it, anyway. You’re a part of me, and he’s a part of you and so I felt something when I touched him.” Jimin bites his lip, looks away. “How beautiful he is,” he sighs. “I could’ve held him when he was scared.”

          “Jimin you saved his life. _Twice_ , Jimin. That’s more than I’ve ever done for him.”

          “He worships you…”

          “It’s misplaced.”

Yoongi laughs but it’s void of any kind of humor. In fact, he’s horrified. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t fantasized about raising Jungkook with Jimin by his side. Jungkook liked to sing, even as a boy, and so did Jimin. That was the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Jungkook had been sitting in the grass, chocolate-y hair blowing in the wind. This was long ago, back when the kid still had big black eyes and chubby cheeks that blew up wide as he chewed his dinner.

He’d been sitting in the grass pulling at daisies singing a song that the wind carried to the Witchers ears. It was early spring, still a little cold, but the flowers were blooming – Yoongi remembers that much because their perfumes intertwined with the scent of Jungkook’s cherry kid’s shampoo. Jungkook was singing, stumbling cutely over his constantans.

Yoongi didn’t even try to hide his love-sick expression. He’d stabbed his sword into the dirt and swung Jungkook into his arms and flung him around until his screaming laughter drew the entire school. His friends never let him live it down. Yoongi didn’t care. Everyone was mad for Jungkook, whether they’d admit it openly or not.

He was such a sweet kid. Entirely the opposite of stoic, snappy, Min Yoongi. The cook would save him a second serving of dessert. He had all these little girlfriends – they’d walk him to classes: one would take his bag, and the other his lunch-box. Yoongi would go off to train, or off to hunt for weeks at a time; leaving Jungkook was like leaving a limb. He called him every day. People laughed at him, but he called him every day.

Back then, in private, he let Jungkook call him daddy instead of ‘hyung’. It was a little guilty pleasure. In their shared quarters Min Yoongi wasn’t a Witcher anymore. He was daddy. He read bed-time stories and gave hugs and cleaned snotty noses.

It was so in aversion to all the things he thought he knew about himself. Nonetheless, every moment, he loved. When Jungkook turned eleven he’d left their room behind, moved in with the other boys in training. He never called him daddy again.

Though it hurt, Yoongi was proud. All kids grow up. Some, beautifully – like Jungkook. He always called him every day. No matter what. Soon, he was turning eighteen, nineteen, twenty. He still called. Every damn day.

It hits him with all the force of a wrecking ball. Yoongi had deprived Jimin of that. It hadn’t been consciously, but that didn’t matter. Yoongi and Jimin with fates intertwined. Jungkook belonged as much to the witch as he did to the Witcher. He should’ve grown up with two daddies – not one.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi turns to Jimin. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

Jimin laughs, wipes tears from his cheeks with an open palm. “You can be as sorry as you want. It doesn’t matter.”

“Jimin –”

“I just wish you hadn’t said it.” He’s smiling sadly and it breaks the Witcher’s heart. “That thing that I feel when I see him; I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t realize, until you said it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not real though, is it? It’s just the magic. This stupid magic.”

“That magic binds us through eternity, Jimin. It isn’t stupid. I love you – that’s fucking real.”

The witch tilts his head towards the ceiling and laughs. It’s a terrifying sound, because it’s empty. “You know what the worst part is?” He chuckles, crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ll die. Jungkook’ll die. And I’ll just be here, waiting, forever.”

“I’ll come back to you,” Yoongi says. “That’s how it works, right? My body dies, but my soul comes back to you.”

Jimin nods, his eyes lock on Yoongi’s face, expression unreadable. “That you will,” he says. “But not Jungkook. Jungkook dies for good, and I didn’t even get to have him in this life.”

Yoongi folds his eyes closed. “Jimin –”

“Get out,”

“Jimin, please –”

“Just leave me alone.”

The door behind him swings open with a squeak, the Witcher looks towards it, his lips turning downward. “I’ll go,” he says, “but you won’t leave, right? You won’t leave me, will you?”

Jimin laughs, turns towards the kettle which squeals in a pitch that reverberates around the Witcher’s whole skull. “That’s the joke, isn’t it? Even if I did – you’re like a black hole. Even if I tried, your gravity envelopes me. It’d just pull me back in.”

* * *

 

Taehyung runs his hands through his hair for what feels like the thirtieth time. He watches himself in the mirror. _It’s good_ , he thinks to himself, _it’s fine_. This face which is his has never let him down before. Sharp in all the right places, along his chin and his jaw – a long straight nose. His eyes, his rounded lips – the softness in his cheeks.

          He isn’t oblivious. How could he be? People react to the way he looks even when they don’t mean to. He’s always liked it: a modicum of power where he otherwise had none. He was the kind of handsome that could do or say anything and get away with it all. At least, this is what he’d learnt when he left home for college.

          But that isn’t what he wants from Jungkook. He realises that much, as he takes himself in through the fogged up glass of the bathroom mirror. He _looks_ beautiful, sure: raven hair damp, skin a little flushed from all the time he’d spent psyching himself up, readying himself under a stream of almost-scalding hot water.

What he thinks he wants from Jungkook, is something deeper. He can’t be sure, though – he’s of two minds about it. It would be safer if the young Witcher wanted him for all wrong reasons… all the same reasons as usual. Would that hurt him, though? He isn’t sure. He’s never been hurt by a lover; he’s never cared enough, to be hurt by a lover.

Not that he and Jungkook are lovers. Not in the slightest.

He dresses casually, gives himself a minute in the full length mirror, first. He doesn’t remember when he allowed himself to grow so _soft_. He’d been wiry as a boy, and a teenager; his stringy abdominal muscles would peak through his skin when he ran, or curled, or flexed. Now, things were different. He’s still plenty lean, especially after the last few weeks: chest dominant, but his stomach is soft, the curve of him fuller than he ever remembers.

It’s different but he doesn’t dislike it. Wonders whether he might be nicer to hold now, as he slips a soft, loose shirt over his head; the collar falls over his shoulder, exposing the curve of his neck, a long collarbone. His pants are a dark satin that feel cool and luxuriant against the skin of his legs.

He’s on fire. His insides are bubbling and his ears are irritatingly red. He shuffles his hair, hopes to cover them some. He’s been nervous for a lot of reasons since the Witchers arrived, but this is different. These nerves curl his toes against his slippers as he pads quietly across the hall to Jungkook’s room. These nerves make him feel woozy like too much red wine. He’s always liked that feeling.

Usually he breezes into Jungkook’s room without a second thought. This time, like a fool, he stops to knock even though it’s open and he can hear the other singing quietly to himself on the other side. Maybe he’s just hyper-aware because he knows – but his heart quickens at the thought that maybe the stupid gesture gave him away somehow.

“You don’t have to knock, Tae,” Jungkook laughs on the other side.

Why is the sound of his voice like an anchor? If Taehyung wasn’t so busy with another thousand thoughts he might stop to be irritated at how he’s let himself fall so deeply. It’s like his poles are reversed. He was moving in a direction – whatever it might’ve been – and now there’s just Jungkook. There had been a centre. Now there’s just _him._

“Hey.” Taehyung tries to execute a little smile but doesn’t find much success. Jungkook looks better every day. Seeing him now he feels stupid for all the things he’s ever thought about himself. Jungkook is universally beautiful; there can be no debate, because it’s inside and out. He’s beautiful right from the tip of his nose, deep into his soul. Taehyung’s felt that beauty firsthand, and it’s overwhelming. “How’s your leg?”

“Stiff,” Jungkook pouts. “I can actually feel it now, which Jimin says is good, but I dunno – he’s not the one that has to suffer.”

That pout makes Taehyung feel a little gooey. Makes him want to crawl into bed with Jungkook and watch Disney movies instead.

 “It is really tender?” Taehyung asks carefully.

“Nah.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I mean it was fucked when Jimin was pushing it around, but as long as I don’t try to flex it too much, it’s fine.”

“Oh,” Taehyung breathes, turning away. “That’s good news.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jungkook says to his back. “You all good, Tae?”

Taehyung fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, I just… you just feel weird, I guess.”

“Can you feel me?”

Jungkook coughs. “I mean, not – not literally. I can s-smell you. Hear your heart and your breathing, and stuff. I’m just, used to your patterns… I thought, that, something’s a little different.”

Taehyung presses his lips together, means to turn around to face Jungkook when he speaks, but he’s cemented into the ground. “I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?”

He takes a breath. “I was just thinking that, you’ve done so much for me, since you got here. I mean you saved my life but it’s more than that. You’ve become really impor – um, a really good friend.”

“So have you, Tae,” Jungkook breathes after a long moment of silence.

Taehyung smiles tightly. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about all the things you’ve done for me, or, that I take those things lightly – because I don’t.”

“Tae –”

“You’ve done so much for me,” he interrupts. “So I wanted to do something for you.”

Jungkook laughs. “I told you, hyung, you don’t have to pay me back. You don’t owe me anything. I did those things because I wanted to.”

Taehyung bites his lip. It’s a now or never situation and if Jungkook’s gonna pack up and leave town when this is all through – Taehyung would prefer that it was now, rather than never.

“I know,” he whispers, finally turning around. There must be something written across his face because Jungkook’s smile shifts into something that Taehyung can’t read, so fast he wonders if it was ever there in the first place. “I know. I know. I’m doing this because I want to.” 

Taehyung can feel his heart in his throat. He’s scared he might physically throw it up as he pulls his shirt over the top of his head, lets it fall to the floor at his feet. Jungkook watches him, amber eyes wide and innocent and _young_ – like he doesn’t have all the information he needs to piece together what’s happening right now.

“Tae,” he gulps.

“Don’t.” Taehyung shakes his head, presses his thumbs into the waist band of his pants. “Unless you want me to stop, don’t say anything. Please, or – or I’ll get scared.”

Jungkook watches him with more intensity than anyone in his entire life. It’s like being branded. It’s painful and exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. He isn’t wearing briefs, so when the satin falls away from his legs, that’s it. He’s completely exposed to Jungkook. It’s not even night-time – just late morning. Warm light filters into the room, the  breeze isn’t cold so Taehyung wonders why is raises goosebumps all along his flesh. Probably isn’t even the breeze at all.

It’s probably Jungkook. Realistically, Taehyung’s close enough to touch but neither of them reach out. That’s terrifying. He’s used to his lovers all over him. Sloppy desperate swamp kissers who think he’ll disappear if they blink. He’s used to a hard cock pressed against him before he even escapes the dancefloor.

Jungkook isn’t hard. He’d be able to see as much through the thin fabric of his pyjama bottoms. Is that a bad sign? Taehyung doesn’t know. _Probably_ , he thinks. The silence stretches out for so long that all the exhilaration almost passes, leaving horror in his wake. Taehyung’s got tunnel vision. He could drop dead right here, right now with mortification. He’s obviously read this all wrong. He always reads everything wrong –

“Can I touch you,” Jungkook asks.

His voice isn’t lower or breathy or shaking like it would be if this was one of Jimin’s erotic novels. Jungkook looks almost… concerned. And when Taehyung nods jerkily, he doesn’t reach across and glance his nipple, or his waist. Jungkook takes his hand. Intertwines their fingers in a way that’s so familiar, Taehyung feels immediately grounded.

 _Yikes_. _It’s scary to love someone this much_ , Taehyung thinks to himself, that their interlocked fingers are better than booze, or Valium. He squeezes the younger’s hand.

“Are you scared,” Jungkook asks.

“That you’ll say no.” Taehyung admits as much quietly, glances away because Jungkook’s expression is more serious than he’s ever seen. It’s that feeling he gets around the Witcher that makes him worry; whatever’s between them can’t just be fucked away quickly. He might give it his best shot, here today, but something in Jungkook’s expression tells him he’ll fail.

“I won’t say no.” Jungkook’s fingers leave his to run up his arm. It would be stupid to gasp, but Taehyung has to swallow the urge, anyway. “Are you sure? Even – even if it’s just this once. I want you to be sure. You don’t _have_ to do anything –”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung locks their gazes, is momentarily shocked by the other’s beauty, a common occurrence, lately. “I want this. Please. I want this.”

Maybe that’s enough. It certainly seems like it is. It’s like Jungkook flips a coin or flicks a switch, suddenly Taehyung’s on top of him, straddling his hips; they’re chest to chest, foreheads pressed together, both panting, pausing, because Taehyung might be naked, and half-hard already but isn’t this a moment? Isn’t this their first kiss?

There’s a memory of Jungkook’s lips against his own lurking somewhere inside his mind, but it’s like a dream. When Jungkook cradles his face between his rough hands and presses their lips together – that’s real. That’s so fucking real that Taehyung almost bursts into tears, right then and there, on the spot.

Jungkook is firm in his kissing, self-assured (maybe by the way that Taehyung isn’t wearing any clothes, his intentions clear) but he’s also so infuriatingly gentle. Their lips press together a number of times – closed mouth kisses that feel purposeful in the way that they’re a warm-up. Taehyung can tell. They say, ‘this is how I’m going to kiss you’, ‘this is what it’s like to have my lips against yours’.

Taehyung squirms. He’s so lost in Jungkook’s simple kisses that he forgets all the reasons he’s here. He’d envisioned this fast, maybe a little rough. That’s usually what all the others liked. Never really liked a slow build, so when Jungkook finally parts his lips, seals their mouths together properly, Taehyung thinks he might’ve played himself. Might’ve given up on kissing too soon.

Then again, maybe it’s just Jungkook. He wraps his arms around his neck and feels the other’s encircle him in a hold that is as protective as it is possessive. Jungkook’s blunt nails run against the skin of his bare-back; Taehyung’s not ashamed to admit that it has him lunging into the kiss like a starving man, slipping his tongue into Jungkook’s mouth without warning.

Why is it romantic? It shouldn’t be. Taehyung hadn’t meant it to be. This was supposed to be raw. Isn’t that what men like? Like being in control; like dominating their partners. Taehyung can feel Jungkook’s strength, both in his arms and his lips, but it isn’t domineering. It’s protective, like he said. The Witcher’s mouth slides against his own and he curls his entire body into the younger’s because this place is safe, and it feels _good_. Incredible, even.

Jungkook tastes a little sweet. Less like Jimin’s whitened-sugar and more like maple syrup. The pressure of him at every point that he and Taehyung touch is just enough to communicate his desire, but not so much that Taehyung feels his power taken from him. The joke is, that Taehyung likes to be in charge but he’d submit to Jungkook, if that’s what the other wanted.

Jungkook sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, bites down lightly. Taehyung almost blacks out. His fingers curl into the soft brunet waves of the other’s hair and everything falls to silence except for this kiss. It’s just _Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook._ His hands and his lips – the way he tastes and smells – how soft his shirt feels under Taehyung’s hands.

This isn’t about Taehyung. It isn’t. This is about Jungkook. What he wants. His pleasure. It isn’t about Taeh –

“Can you take this off,” Taehyung pants into Jungkook’s mouth, runs his tongue across his hot, raw lips. “I wanna touch you. I wanna see your body.”

“Of course.”

 _Of course_. Taehyung wants to roll his eyes. Leave it to Jungkook to be entirely accommodating. He slips his shirt over his head quickly, throws it across the room. Then he’s leaning towards Taehyung’s mouth expectantly, and this might be all about Jungkook but is he really supposed to ignore all _that_?

Curved shoulders and full biceps. A waist so tiny that Taehyung could cup it with one hand. The younger’s chest is practically heaving as he runs his hands across it, across his muscled abdomen, right down to his navel, and up again.

“You have a tattoo,” he comments.

“Tae,” Jungkook whines, hands reaching up to cup his jaw.

It’s a cat. Maybe that’s too simple. It’s a _panther_ – muscles coiled and snarling, eyes flashing the same amber as the Witcher’s own. The black is deep and brilliant against Jungkook’s lighter skin, Taehyung runs his fingers across it, imagines that it might jump out, snap at him, attack him for violating Jungkook. For getting too close to the man it protects.

Jungkook’s breathing falls into a heavy rhythm. He doesn’t whine again, let’s Taehyung take him in, watches him with glowing amber eyes. It’s another opportunity that the elder wont miss. He traces Jungkook’s brow with his finger, down across his rounded nose, his swollen pouty lips, still slick with the remnants of their kiss.

“You’re the most beautiful –” Taehyung starts, but he can’t finish. There’s nothing else to say. He repeats himself, this time, with certainty. “You’re the most beautiful.”

“That’s not true,” Jungkook whispers, his own thumb grazing Taehyung’s cheekbone as it has so many times before. “How could that ever be true.”

 _Gods_ , they’re looking at each other and this wasn’t supposed to be romantic. Taehyung’s leaning in, pressing his lips to Jungkook’s, eyes lidded but still open because he wants to see the youngers face as he kisses him. These are words he can’t say out-loud, his kisses. Lips so fucking gentle. Those are words he’s too much of a coward to voice.

Lips so fucking gentle.

In a sense, things escalate, and in a way, they don’t. They’re both almost fully hard, both as naked as they can be, by the fact that they don’t have enough patience or focus to entirely pull Jungkook’s bottoms away from his fresh cast without hurting him.

Taehyung doesn’t mean to worship him like this. He’s slow and purposeful as he presses down against Jungkook’s hardness. He doesn’t want to hurt him. He watches Jungkook’s face carefully for any sign – there’s nothing but a look that says more than Taehyung’s really willing to hear right now.

Their fingers are inside each other’s hair, against each other’s skin; Taehyung works them both to where they need to be. He slips a lubricated fingers inside himself (because this is about Jungkook, not him), finds little resistance, still prepped form the shower, all of him putty because Jungkook kisses like _that_ and now that he knows, nothing else is gonna measure up.

The younger has that serious look in his eye again, as Taehyung slicks him up, he doesn’t wince or hiss or grunt, even though they’re both more than ready, both more than desperate. He just watches Taehyung with so much in his amber eyes. Taehyung’s lining up, holding Jungkook at his base when –

“Tae –”

“Shh.” Taehyung presses clean fingers to the other’s lips. “I want this. Do you want this?”

Jungkook nods.

“Okay,” he says.

They’re kissing again except now Taehyung’s filled with Jungkook. He’d like to say something filthy – call the other ‘daddy’, ruin their intimacy with some misplaced humor. He can’t. This is intense. Lips parted breathing each other’s air, intense.

“How do you want it,” Taehyung gasps, hips already quickening to a maddening rate.

He isn’t expecting it, when Jungkook takes hold of his body and says “slow”.

Taehyung’s brain almost short circuits. That word’s not really in his sexual vocabulary. He’s used to fucking quick and hard, without care or concern. Whether he tops or bottoms, he’s always been a root and boot kind of guy.

So when he slows his pace, only to have Jungkook  press into the pillows, whisper “slower”, Taehyung isn’t sure he knows _how._ For a red hot second he feels terribly exposed, all semblance of pace lost. He feels like a virgin all over again. Doesn’t know how to deal with the way that Jungkook’s looking at him, or the way he feels inside of him. He’s about ready to hop off and scurry into a dark hole, await death, when Jungkook takes his hips into his hands.

“Like this,” he says.

He’s rocking Taehyung against him, sidling up into him with his own body at an apex, where they meet in the middle. It’s stupid but Taehyung’s brain buzzes. _Oh_ , is all he can think to himself. And then again, _oh_ , because this must be what it feels like to fuck passionately.

Are they even fucking? Taehyung doesn’t want to throw words like ‘make-love’ around, but it certainly feels that way. It feels that way in how Jungkook is looking up at him, Taehyung down, eyes locked together. He’s almost shocked when the younger reaches his hand towards his throat, starts to expect he’s about to get choked out, but all the other does is rest his palm in the hollow above his sternum, guide his motions gently until Taehyung’s brave enough to take over, all on his own.

It’s incredible. He isn’t a weeping, whining mess – he isn’t out of his mind with ecstasy. This takes focus, he realises, and it’s beautiful, because all of it’s committed to the man beneath him. He’s watching Jungkook’s eyes and his lips, cataloguing each breath, each sound. Their movements are small and purposeful but Taehyung’s sensitivity is, frankly, off the charts. Every time Jungkook lifts into him, every time he presses down, it’s like fire up his spine. It’s overwhelming. Taehyung has to shut his eyes to keep from crying. There’s so many things to say.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook’s hand brushes past his face, down the length of his neck to his shoulder.

Taehyung’s never been asked that during sex before. He’d convinced himself that pain was something he enjoyed. All part of the pleasure. It’s another moment of realisation. Now that he’s been touch like this, and by Jungkook no less, there’s probably no going back.

“Just – intense,” Taehyung says.

His fists are balled against Jungkook’s chest, the younger touches them gently. “What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says, still moving against his lover, heart erratic, emotions flying wild. “I – think I need you to hold me.”

It’s weird. He’s naked. Jungkook is literally _inside_ him. But those words expose him more than anything else. He shivers against them, against what they mean, both to him, and the other. Jungkook doesn’t pause, though, he sits up, barely jostling Taehyung, wraps his arms around him and it’s not unlike an embrace.

The new position is odd to him, but it feels good. Taehyung leans back against Jungkook’s strong arms, tethered to his neck. The intensity never leaves him, but Jungkook’s hold is grounding. He feels safe and protected, unafraid here, bodies joined at almost every point.

It’s natural, when their pace quickens, neither one rushed or desperate, just feeling each other, giving and taking in equal parts. It’s fulfilling, to hear the way that Jungkook says his name, kisses against his exposed skin, lips, fluttering lashes against his neck.

He grasps against Jungkook’s tattooed flesh, gasps into his mouth when the younger wraps a calloused hand around him, pumps him in perfect time, watches him, eyes lidded, gentle but expectant. Taehyung can’t help it – he latches onto Jungkook’s lips because he craves more of him. More touch, more skin, more connection. He couldn’t possibly get closer, but he’s peaking, and he needs it anyway.

“Jungkook,” he wines against his mouth, asking for something – permission, maybe; comfort? He isn’t sure.

“It’s okay, baby,” the other speaks into him. “It’s okay.”

It isn’t blinding ecstasy, but it’s still the most intense orgasm of his life. Taehyung’s whole body quivers against Jungkook who holds him tight but careful, carries him all the way through with an expression that has him quaking.

He isn’t sure, maybe Jungkook thinks they’re finished. He starts to slow, motions to pull out before Taehyung captures his shoulders, then his face, cradles him there, foreheads pressed together.

“What are you doing?” he pants.

“It’s okay I don’t need to –”

“Finish,” Taehyung breathes, circling his hips, finding it difficult to put an entire sentence together past the overstimulation.

“Tae, it’s oka –”

“Finish.” He kisses Jungkook gently, still rocking his body against him. “Please.”

The younger licks his lips, closes his eyes. Taehyung smiles with satisfaction. “Can I put you on your back?” Jungkook asks.

“Of course.” He moves to shift off, but Jungkook flips them in a fluid motion – an irritating show of strength. “Be careful of your leg,” Taehyung whispers against the shell of his ear as the other bottoms out, again.

“It’s fine.”

Jungkook presses their noses together, thrusts into Taehyung with more force, more intention than he ever had before. The elder bites his bottom lip, leans his head into the pillow, fingers clawing at the muscles of Jungkook’s back. The Witcher’s forehead presses into his shoulder, he strains into Taehyung, panting, pace erratic – Taehyung expects him to finish, but he doesn’t.

Jungkook chokes into his shoulder.

“Hey,” Taehyung whispers, concerned, fingers curling into his lover’s nape. “Hey, look at me.” Jungkook presses his nose deeper into his neck, lets out a thick and shaky breath. “Baby, what’s wrong? Is it your leg?"

Jungkook shakes his head, chokes on a little sob that has Taehyung’s heart splintering inside his chest. “I don’t – then – it’ll be o-over. I d-don’t want you to l-leave me.” He presses his lips to Taehyung’s neck.

His heart shatters, he won’t lie about that. He can’t even blame Jungkook for feeling this way: he isn’t an idiot. He sees Taehyung for what he is, knows he’s a coward, through and through. “What do you need?”

“T-tell me you won’t leave.”

          This isn’t about Taehyung.

This is about Jungkook.

          “Look at me, baby,” he whispers, pulls against Jungkook’s nape until they’re nose to nose. “I won’t,” he says, moves against Jungkook’s core, presses towards him, hand running across the plane of his back. His legs wrap around the younger’s waist. “I won’t leave you,” he whispers, kissing him gently.

          This is about him, after all. 

          So, for Jungkook, Taehyung lies.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COME AND TALK TO ME PLS I AM LONELY


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